The Night of the Florentine Phoenix
by The Wild Wild Whovian
Summary: The Florentine Phoenix, a priceless art treasure, has arrived in San Francisco to be delivered to the Smithsonian in Washington DC. Jim and Artie have the task of escorting the treasure to its destination. But getting the Phoenix to the museum won't be easy, not with a rogues' gallery lined up itching to get their hands on the bird.
1. Teaser

_With deep respect for, and profoundest apologies to, Dashiell Hammett._

_Thanks go to my brainstorming friends for their multitude of ideas, some of which found their way into this story (the feathers, the jello, the pool of blood on the Persian rug) - but __**not **__their dead Artie idea. Thanks also to Cal Gal for betaing, to Ragnelle for help on the saber fight, and to sub.C and Ragnelle for help on the German - any remaining nonsense is my own._

_(Ah, and regarding the character who speaks German: when Artie is present in the scene, he __**will **__translate what that character says.)_

* * *

**The Night of the Florentine Phoenix**

**Teaser **

A carriage pulled up at dockside and two men got out. With a nod of thanks, James West tossed the cabbie a coin while his partner, Artemus Gordon, took a good look around. "Aha!" he said. "Will you look at that, James my boy? There's _La Paloma _just tying up. Perfect timing!"

The pair headed for the ship. They barely got ten yards closer to it, however, before a man stepped into their path. "_Kommen Sie mit mir_," he ordered them gruffly, his voice a raspy wheeze. He was a big man, roughly the same size as Artie, or would have been but for a pronounced tendency to hunch over. His black slouch hat was drawn down over his head like a shadow, with what little of his face that could be seen from under it hidden behind a heavy red beard. He wore a massive overcoat, his right hand buried in his coat pocket. And there was something in that hand, something that made the fabric of his pocket jut out toward them menacingly.

Jim and Artie both stopped dead in their tracks and looked at the man. Their eyes then turned towards each other, then back to the man again.

"Excuse me?" said Artie, then translated the phrase into German.

"_Kommen Sie mit mir_," the man repeated. "_Sofort!"_

Artie shook his head in amazement and spoke to the man in German at length, ending with, "_Wie heißt das Zauberwort_, hmm?"

From the shadows under the hat, the man's eyes glittered for a moment. "_Bitte_," he said at last. "_Kommen Sie mit mir _- _**bitte**_."

"Well, that's much better," said Artie. "After you, James my boy."

The man turned and gestured imperiously for the two agents to accompany him. He cast frequent glances their way as they walked now not toward the ship but toward a carriage parked alongside the docks.

Jim leaned toward Artie and asked softly, "What was that all about?"

"He ordered us to come with him - now."

"And?"

"And…" Artie pulled at his nose to hide his grin. "Well, I asked him didn't his mother teach him any manners, and what was the magic word."

"So that's why he said, 'Please' in the end?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Of course. Because if he's going to shanghai us, he should at least be polite about it."

"Oh, certainly!"

"_Seien Sie still!" _growled the man, ordering them to be quiet. He jerked his head toward the carriage, barking out another order.

Artie cocked an eyebrow at him. Scowling, the man added, "_Bitte."_

"_Dankeschön_," said Artie. "James, it seems our new friend would like us to enter the carriage." And the two of them climbed inside.

It was dark in the carriage and close as well, the closeness stemming mainly from the size of the man already occupying it. He was easily as big as Count Manzeppi, as big also as a certain Chinese man the agents had once met who had turned out not to be Chinese after all. This man, the one taking up well over his fair share of the carriage interior, was a white man, very white. He was white of hair and dressed all in white, and his big soft pale hands were enhanced with a large opal ring on the one, a diamond ring on the other.

He smiled genially at his guests, then looked past them to say, "_Danke_, Koch," to their escort. The man in white continued on briefly in rapid German. The man under the hat nodded, shut the door, then turned his back and folded his arms, guarding.

The man in white smiled again. "Mr West, Mr Gordon, welcome, welcome. It is so good to make your acquaintance. I am Gaspar Kutman, your humble servant."

Artie jerked his head in the direction of the door. "And he's your cook?"

"Hmm? Oh no no! Koch is his _name_, not his profession. Merle Koch, my, ah… interpreter, so to speak."

"Interpreter?" Jim repeated skeptically.

"Is he?" added Artie. "Because we've only heard him speak German, and if he understands English, he gave an excellent impression that he didn't."

Kutman chuckled, the folds of his cheeks almost swallowing up his eyes. "Oh, but you see, he is my interpreter in the sense that I tell him I want a thing done, and he sees to it that it _is _done. As a prime example, I let it be known that I wished a meeting with you two gentlemen - and here you are!"

"Yeah, here we are," said Artie.

Jim fixed Kutman with a stare. "Why?"

"Why? But isn't it obvious? You two gentlemen are here in San Francisco to meet that ship." Kutman nodded toward _La Paloma_. "You are to, ah, receive a certain object which has been brought to these shores aboard _La Paloma _and escort that object to its destination in Washington DC. I wish merely to let it be known to you, and to anyone else to whom you may wish to pass on the intelligence, that I am prepared to pay the sum of ten thousand dollars to acquire that object."

He had leaned forward during this speech; he now sat back into the cushions of his seat. "Ten thousand dollars, gentlemen! A handsome fee for a few minutes work. You need only pick up the object aboard the ship and bring it directly here to me..." He reached into a jacket pocket to produce a fat envelope. "…and this shall be yours." He held out the envelope. When neither West nor Gordon took it, Kutman opened the unsealed flap himself and fanned out the bills inside. "Easy money, gentlemen," he said, tucking the money back into the envelope, then tossing it onto the seat between the agents.

"Oh, easy money!" said Artie sarcastically.

"Not exactly," said Jim. "Considering that the object in question doesn't belong to us. We can't sell to you something that isn't ours to sell."

"Oh but, gentlemen! Did I neglect to mention that if you were to, ah, persuade those from whom you are to receive the item to sell it to me, there would be a finder's fee awaiting you? Two thousand dollars, gentlemen. Each."

Jim met Kutman's gaze steadily. "The item isn't theirs to sell either."

"No," added Artie. "It's a national treasure belonging to the country of Bosnia." He gave a lop-sided smile and said, "Perhaps you should consider negotiating with their government."

The genial smile fell off Kutman's face and his eyes flashed. "I _have _attempted to…" He broke off, an angry snort blowing out through his nostrils. He glared at the two agents for a moment, then pulled out a business card and a pencil. He wrote on the card briskly, then handed it to West, saying, "This is where I shall be staying, gentlemen, should you change your minds."

West glanced at the card, committing to memory its address of Suite 412 at the opulent Frémont Hotel, then tucked the card into his pocket. "We won't be changing our minds, Mr Kutman. But if something should happen to the Phoenix, we will know where to find you."

Kutman's eyes smoldered at him. "Koch!" he bellowed.

The door instantly opened. "_Jawohl, mein Herr?"_

Kutman snapped out an order in German, waving a hand dismissively at the agents. Koch nodded and all but hauled West and Gordon bodily from the carriage, then took their place inside it. As it drove away, however, neither West nor Gordon noticed the sharp glance Koch cast their way.

Nor did Kutman.

"_Auf Wiedersehen_," Artie called out sweetly to the receding carriage. He brushed an imaginary speck of dust off his sleeve, then shot a jovial look at his partner. "Well, what do you think, James? Do you suppose Kutman there is the only one who'll be looking to, ah, acquire the little item we've been sent here to bring to Washington?"

Jim's eyes swept the docks. "Not likely, Artie. And I don't think we've seen the last of Kutman and his toy soldier either."

"I hear that," said Artie. As they headed for _La Paloma _anew, he added, "Well, James, as the Bard put it so well, 'Once more unto the breach, dear friend.' "

As they reached the gangplank, a small nattily-attired young man with curly hair and large, dark, worried eyes met them. "You are the Federal agents I was to expect?" he asked in a gentle, somewhat agitated voice.

In reply, West and Gordon presented their credentials. "Ah. Very good," said the young man. "And I am Bartholomew Memphis, the representative of the Smithsonian Institution." He too presented identification, then said, "Won't you follow me, gentlemen?" and led them aboard.

Though the walk forward was not long in distance, the three men found it took them quite a while, for they kept having to stop or sidestep to allow officers and sailors to pass by them to get on with their work.

As the three made their slow progress through the ship, Mr Memphis, in the lead, said, "As you may imagine, gentlemen, we of the Smithsonian are very excited about this acquisition, temporary though it might be. What a coup, to be able to display the Florentine Phoenix, even if it will only be for a few short weeks!"

"I'm sure, Mr Memphis," said Jim.

"We have everything ready," Artie chimed in, "to take you and the Phoenix all the way across the country to Washington. Our train, the Wanderer, will be heading east first thing in the morning."

"And in the meantime, we'll be taking the Phoenix to the office of Col Richmond, the head of the Secret Service, for it to be stored in his safe overnight."

"Ah, good, good." Memphis paused for a moment, then said, "It is utterly amazing, the Phoenix. You have no idea. The craftsmanship! The delicacy! The beauty!" He sighed rapturously. "And the thought that that little jeweled bird passed through such hands of greatness! The Margrave of Brandenburg of the House of Hohenzollern, of course, for he was the original owner, but also the Emperor Napoleon and his sister, and even…" A quivering smile played over the man's lips. "…even, if rumor can be believed, the hands of Leonardo da Vinci himself!"

Jim nodded. "It's known as the Florentine Phoenix because it's alleged that da Vinci designed and built it while he was still living and working in Florence."

"Yes," added Artie. "It was commissioned by the Margrave of Brandenburg, but they say that almost upon delivery, the Phoenix was stolen from him. No real record exists of its provenance for some three centuries afterwards, except that it's believed to have changed hands frequently, and that generally by way of theft."

Memphis nodded. "Yes. Yes. I am glad to hear that you men to whom this treasure is to be entrusted know its history so well."

Jim gave a small smile. "We did our homework, Mr Memphis."

Artie, warming to his subject, added, "But then the Phoenix came to light again in the hands of Napoleon, no doubt acquired in his course of conquering the courts of Europe. Presumably taking its name to heart, Napoleon presented it to his sister Elise upon naming her Grand Duchess of Tuscany, and thus the Phoenix returned to Florence."

"But after the fall of Napoleon," put in Jim, "the Phoenix vanished from view once more."

"Yes," said Artie. "Imagine our surprise, Mr Memphis, to learn that such a priceless treasure had shown up again in the possession of none other than our old friend Count Draja of Bosnia!"

"Old friend?" asked Memphis. "You knew Count Draja?"

Artie nodded at his partner. "It was thanks to our efforts - well, mostly Jim's - that Count Draja was returned to his homeland to stand trial, after which his possessions were forfeited to the new regime in Bosnia."

"At which point the Phoenix was found to be among those possessions," said Jim. "We knew the count had come here to the United States to collect a treasure he had hidden here, but we had no notion the Florentine Phoenix was part of that treasure."

"Ah, it was not," said Memphis. "The Phoenix was discovered secreted away in Sarajevo as a matter of fact, gentlemen." He smiled happily. "And with the Phoenix found safe and sound, it has now embarked on this world tour of museums! Beginning at Sarajevo, the Phoenix has charmed patrons of the arts all across the Balkans and throughout Italy, then on to Constanti…" He paused and blushed slightly. "I mean, Istanbul. For those of us who live in the past in museums, the more ancient name of that city comes more readily to the lips, I'm afraid. And there are some of us even for whom the name Byzantium supersedes both newer names."

"Yes, Mr Memphis," said Artie.

"And after Washington, on to London, Paris, St Petersburg…" Memphis now stopped at a door and laid a hand on the knob. "Gentlemen, we have arrived. Allow me to present the representative of the government of Bosnia who is also accompanying the Florentine Phoenix as a cultural ambassadrix, if you will…" He pushed open the door to reveal an elegant salon opulently appointed. Across the room a graceful woman inspected her reflection in a gold-framed mirror as she made a few adjustments to her upswept honey-blonde hair. Satisfied, she turned with a rustle of her silken skirts and smiled as she glided toward the door.

"Mr West, Mr Gordon," Memphis announced with a bow as the beautiful woman stopped abruptly and stared, "may I present to you the Countess Zorana of…"

His introduction was drowned out by the woman and the agents all simultaneously exclaiming, _"You!"_


	2. Act One, Part One

**Act One, Part One **

"You, ah…" said Memphis, tugging nervously at his starched collar, "you know each other?"

Her eyes aflame, the countess whirled on the little man and stormed, "Why did you not inform me that the men sent by your government to escort the Phoenix across the country would be _these?_" She glared at them all, and never had the figurative phrase "looking daggers" seemed so literal.

"Your-your pardon, my lady," stammered Memphis. "Until they met the ship just now, I did not know."

West and Gordon didn't bother with going through the middleman but addressed the countess directly. "What are you doing here?" said West.

"Yes," said Gordon, "how is it that you're traipsing about here free as a bird instead of locked up in prison back home in Bosnia?"

"Lock-locked up!" exclaimed Memphis.

"Oh yes," Artie went on. "Didn't Her Ladyship tell you about her previous excursion to the United States, when she hired a group of train robbers to help her go after her dear friend Count Draja's hidden treasure?"

The woman scoffed and tried to refute his words, but Artie only raised his voice and drowned hers out. "Now granted," he said, "your hired thugs turned on you, intending to take the loot for themselves. And yet once I had neutralized them all, delivering you from their hands, how did you reward me but by threatening my life?"

"Threat…!" Memphis gaped as he turned toward the countess, his bulgy eyes bulging more than ever.

"I did nothing of the kind!" the countess said regally.

"Yeah? Well, in my book, lady, holding a shotgun on a man is threatening his life. _And _you tried to get the drop on Jim as well."

"I'm very surprised you aren't serving a long prison sentence back home in Bosnia, Countess," said Jim. "You were after Count Draja's hidden money not to restore it to your country, but to take it for yourself."

Her head held high, the countess seated herself regally on the divan. "And yet I did restore it to my country," she said. "I…"

"Yes," Artie broke in, "after you were caught red-handed and realized there was no way you would be able make off with it!"

She leveled a cold glance at him. "How uncouth are Americans, always interrupting! As I was saying, it was my dear Draja that the authorities back home wanted, in comparison to whom I was merely - how do you Americans put it? small potatoes? And so once the treasure from the American West was in their hands, as well as the locations of a few of dear Draja's, shall we say, private museums in and around Sarajevo, why I was accounted the savior of Bosnia's cultural heritage, a patroness of the arts." She smiled and with a genial bow of her head added, "In which capacity you gentlemen find me today."

"Patroness!" spluttered Artie.

Mr Memphis, though, gave a sigh of relief and smiled. "Ah then. You see, gentlemen, you have misjudged my colleague. She found and restored the treasures of her nation, and has been rewarded with their gratitude, as is fitting."

"What? Didn't you hear a word we said? She's not…" Artie subsided only because Jim caught his eye and gave a small shake of his head. Artie muttered on for a moment under his breath, but he knew Jim was right: Memphis had chosen what he wished to believe, and no amount of mere words would be able to talk him out of it. He would have to see the countess' true colors for himself. "And may the price of his misplaced confidence not be the loss of the Phoenix!" Artie murmured.

"The Phoenix," said Jim, picked up on Artie's private grumblings. "May we see it now?"

"Oh, but of course!" said Memphis, glad of the change of topic. The little man hurried across the room and flung back a curtain to reveal the door of a safe embedded into the wall. He worked the combination with practiced ease, then opened the heavy metal door. Within was a large square case. He grasped the handle with both hands and lifted the case, bringing it to a low table in between two sofas.

Memphis set down the case and took a key out of his pocket. "My lady?" he said, and the countess too produced a key, this one from the dainty silk reticule dangling from her wrist. Memphis fitted the two keys into twin keyholes on the case, turned them in opposite directions, and opened the case. Inside…

Ah, inside was a thick cushion lined with satin, a second cushion just like it packed within the lid. Something round lay on the lower cushion, covered over with a satin cloth, white linen gloves lying to either side of the unseen object. Memphis took up the gloves and donned them. Then, with a look on his face that was nigh on veneration, he lifted away the deep purple cloth, whispering huskily, "Gentlemen, behold!"

Both West and Gordon found themselves leaning forward to get a good look. The countess as well hovered over the case, her breath abated, a rapturous gleam in her eye - unless, of course, the look lighting her face was less of a noble character and more of an avaricious one. As for Memphis, after assuring himself that the immaculate white gloves were pulled down snugly over his hands, he reached into the case and lifted out the object along with a second, smaller item that nestled by its side, each one in its own form-fitted niche in the lower cushion.

The smaller item was a golden key, its bow studded with rubies and garnets. The larger was something roughly the size and shape of an ostrich egg, also made of gold, with swirls and eddies of tiny rubies chasing all over its surface in playful patterns.

Mr Memphis turned the orb over to reveal that it had a flat base about two inches in diameter. Centered in the flat base was a keyhole. Memphis fitted the ornate key into that slot and cranked the key around once, twice, thrice. He removed the key and gently placed the orb flat side down on the table, then stepped back.

The two agents weren't quite sure what to expect, only that a phoenix would be involved. A light sound of gears turning, almost musical in its delicacy, met their ears. For a long moment nothing happened, then abruptly the orb cracked open, its golden shell splitting six ways into scallop-edged segments like the petals of a flower, each one slowly falling outwards to expose an elegant little bird within, its body greenish-white and inlaid with amethysts.

"White gold?" asked Artie, glancing up.

Memphis shook his head. "No, electrum. Do watch, Mr Gordon!"

As they all watched and the unseen gears continued to mesh softly, the bird lifted its head and spread out its wings, its beak opening and closing. Memphis again urged them to "Watch!" as a ring of tongues of flame sprang up all around the bird, little rippled blades of red gold, looking like so many tiny flaming swords surrounding the bird. The flames grew taller and taller, becoming broader at their bases, curving up and over the bird until at last the flames joined up together into a solid shell again that hid the bird completely from view.

"Well, that's very interesting…" Artie began.

"Watch!"

The light music of the gears still clicked on. Suddenly, with a crack that made them all jump, the shell split open anew, revealing a different bird, tinier, and made all of silver encrusted with sapphires. It lifted its head and wings as the first bird had done, then bowed its head and folded its wings around itself as if going to sleep.

Slowly the backmost petal of the outer shell began to rise up to its original position again, followed by the two petals flanking it, then the two flanking them. Last of all the petal in the center front came up as well, joining with the rest to enclose the reborn phoenix. With a last soft _click _the orb regained its smooth round appearance and the gears fell silent.

There was a collective sigh as Memphis and the countess let out their breaths. "Exquisite," murmured the man from the Smithsonian. "Do you not agree, gentlemen?"

"Very nice," said Jim. "Artie?"

His partner reached for the orb. "May I, ah…?" he said.

Memphis started slightly. "May you what?"

"Have the gloves so I can inspect the Phoenix, of course." Artie waited, holding out his hand, as Mr Memphis reluctantly pulled off the gloves and passed them over. The little fellow watched, worry shining from his large dark eyes as Artie lifted the Phoenix in freshly gloved hands and turned it over, eying its outer surface. The agent produced from a pocket both a large magnifying glass and a jeweler's loupe, the latter of which he screwed into one eye. Silently he looked over the orb for several minutes before laying it gently into its spot in the case and spreading the purple cloth over it once more.

He gave a soft whistle, then glanced at Jim and nodded.

Jim took charge of the case now, waiting until Artie had replaced the gloves inside before snapping the case shut with the priceless art treasure and its key inside. "Thank you, Mr Memphis, Countess, we'll take it from here. Meet us at the Wanderer in the railroad yards first thing in the morning and we'll be off to Washington."

"Oh, but…"

West picked up the case and turned to face the woman. "Yes, Countess?"

She lifted her chin regally. "I must accompany the Phoenix wherever it goes!"

"And you will, when we set out with it aboard the Wanderer tomorrow," said Jim.

"Yes, and for now, it will be locked away securely in the safe at Colonel Richmond's office," added Artie. "Ah… your key, please?"

She shot him a glare. "Why?"

"Because the Phoenix is in our custody now."

"The Phoenix, and all that pertains to it," added Jim. He held out his free hand. "The key now, Countess."

She gaped for a moment, holding tightly to the silken purse she had stored it in. "Mr Memphis!" she exclaimed at last.

"And yours as well," Artie said, turning to the official of the Smithsonian.

The little man was also gaping. "But…" he said, beginning to protest.

"And we'll see you on the train tomorrow."

Slowly, reluctantly, Memphis nodded and relinquished his key. Obviously displeased, the countess followed suit.

"Thank you," said Artie genially. He pocketed one key and James the other, then Artie pulled out a pad of paper, swiftly wrote out a note, and passed pad and pencil to Mr Memphis. "If you'll both sign this, please."

"What is it?"

"A receipt, of course, showing that you and the countess have entrusted the Phoenix to our care."

Memphis turned his large and soulful eyes upon the agent for a long moment, then nodded with a sigh and signed. The countess gave Artie a long glare before acquiescing to sign as well. Artie then pulled the sheet from the pad with a cheerful, "There we go! One copy for you…" He handed it to Memphis. "…and one for us." He put away the pad. "And now, good day to you both." Artie put on his hat and touched the brim of it to the pair, then went and held the door for Jim.

Their trip back off the ship was quicker than the one boarding it. As they stepped off the gangplank, Jim stopped and shifted the case from one hand to the other, making a show of flexing his fingers.

"Following us?" murmured Artie.

"Oh yeah," said Jim. "Memphis and the countess both." He shifted the case back and they moved on.

Artie contrived to sneak a clandestine peek. "Hmm. And they're together," he said.

Jim gave a small nod. "For now, at least. Recognize anyone else?"

"If you're referring to the gentleman in the slouch hat across the street ahead of us, holding his cigarette in the European fashion…"

"I might be."

"Right. So there's _Herr _Koch putting in his appearance on Mr Kutman's behalf. Which, James my boy, just goes to show that we're attracting all the right attention, hmm? I wonder if anyone else will be joining in the parade."

As they reached the street, Artie raised an arm and hailed a cab. Shortly afterwards, the two of them were being driven along, heading for Col Richmond's office. If they suspected their driver of being yet another party interested in the Phoenix, they gave no sign of it.

And if they suspected their driver of being not a he but a well-disguised she, well, they gave no sign of that either.


	3. Act One, Part Two

**Act One, Part Two**

With a smile and nod of thanks, Artie flipped a coin to the cab driver, then followed Jim up the stairs to the door of the office building. "I'll get that for you," he said, hurrying to grab the doorknob. As he held the door for Jim to carry the case inside, he murmured, "They're all still with us. I wonder if the cabbies have caught on to what's going on."

"I didn't see anyone new added," said Jim. "Did you?"

"Not…" Artie took one final look around before letting the door close behind them. "Not that I noticed." The two agents stepped up to the guard manning the reception desk and showed their credentials. After checking the IDs carefully, the guard said, "The door to your right, gentlemen," and buzzed them through.

The colonel's secretary Mr Keeley greeted them as the two entered the anteroom upstairs. "Good to see you, Mr West, Mr Gordon. Please be seated while I announce you." The secretary tapped on the inner office door, then stuck his head inside and spoke briefly.

Immediately Col Richmond appeared in the doorway. "Oh good! Jim, Artemus, come right on in." They all made way for Jim to haul the case straight to the desk, where he set it down gently. "And the Phoenix is inside?" said Richmond.

"We believe so, yes," said Artie. "The quality of the materials and the workmanship look right, at least."

"If it's not the genuine item," added Jim, "it's an excellent imitation."

A chuckling, querulous voice piped up then, saying, "Oh, I'll be the judge of that, James!" And a man stepped forward, holding out a hand in greeting. "How are you doing, Jim, Artemus? And how is this little bird doing as well, hmm?"

"Good day, Professor Montague," said Jim.

"Let's open up the case and you can see for yourself," said Artie. "I, uh, trust your trip here from Denver was pleasant?"

"Uneventful, at least," said the little professor. "The monotony of the train ride gave me the opportunity to catch up on some reading. I perused the most delightful monograph, gentlemen, on the art of identifying various types of tobacco by their ashes - can you believe it? - written by a, by a young fellow over there in England. Most curious name he had, most curious, only I've quite forgotten what it was. Sherwood…? No, no, that's not it…" He nattered on to himself as Jim and Artie used the keys they had acquired from Memphis and the countess to open the case. "Oh, yes!" said Montague suddenly. "And for that matter, on the trip I met…"

"Professor," said Richmond, gesturing for the little scientist to rejoin them.

"Hmm? Ah, yes, the Phoenix!" Montague accepted the gloves from Artemus and donned them, pulled out a loupe of his own, and was soon happily engrossed in studying the precious treasure.

"Gentlemen." Richmond drew his two agents off to one side. "Anything to report?"

West and Gordon spent the next several minutes catching their boss up on all that had happened to them so far pertaining to the Phoenix. Richmond nodded, asking questions at intervals, until the professor's cry of, "Oh, how delightful!" interrupted him. "Col Richmond, come and see!" Montague exclaimed.

Richmond, along with West and Gordon, returned to the desk where the little professor gleefully wound up the Phoenix and put it through its paces. So enchanting was the little creation, even for those who had seen what it would do before, that none of the four noticed the knock on the outer office door that Keeley went to answer.

"Isn't it marvelous?" said Prof Montague with satisfaction as the final panel of the orb gently settled back into its place, completing the cycle. "Oh, gentlemen, let me tell you, between the craftsmanship involved and the materials of which it is made, there is no doubt in my mind that this is in fact the genuine article, _and _the work of that master artist Leonardo da Vinci himself!"

"I already told you that," came a forlorn voice from the door. All four men turned to see Mr Keeley's apologetic face framed in the doorway, the woebegone form of Bartholomew Memphis right beside him flanked by one of the armed guards.

"I'm sorry, Colonel," said Keeley. "I was about to inform you of Mr Memphis' arrival, but…"

Richmond waved that aside. "No matter, no matter. Mr Memphis, do come in. I'm Col Richmond. And is the countess…? Ah, yes. Please, do enter as well, dear lady." He nodded a thank you to the guard who had escorted them up, dismissing him, then turned to the new guests and said, "Mr Memphis, Countess Zorana, may I present Professor Montague."

The little professor shook hands warmly with the little curator, who escaped from the handshake as quickly as possible. Montague then turned his attention to the lady, his bright eyes under shaggy gray eyebrows sparkling as he murmured something complimentary in French and bowed over her hand.

Jim, Artie, and the colonel all exchanged clandestine grins over the professor's effort to charm the countess. She smiled graciously at Montague and slipped her arm through his, drawing him over to where the Phoenix lay openly on the desk top out of its protective case.

And Memphis continued to look mournful. "I am wounded, gentlemen," he said dolefully, "that you have brought in some outside expert to authenticate the Phoenix. My word is not good enough for you?"

"Oh no, it isn't that," said the colonel quickly, turning to his agents.

"No, of course not," added Jim. "It's just that…" And he turned toward Artie.

"It's… it's just that, ah…" Artie smiled at the man for a heart-stopping second. "Oh, it's just that, you see, Professor Montague here is a dear old friend of ours. He was one of Jim's instructors back when he was in college before the War. Right, Jim?"

"Right. And he, uh…"

"…happened to be in town," Artie said, laying a hand on Memphis' arm. "You see, the professor there just loves anything that has to do with gadgetry. But he lives in Denver, far from Washington DC, and there was no chance that he would be able to view the Phoenix during its time there. But as he was going to be here in San Francisco just as the Phoenix was passing through…"

"Right," said Jim. "We invited him here to have a brief private viewing. He was thrilled beyond belief with the invitation."

"Yes, uncontrollably excited!" added Artie, earning from Col Richmond a frown, as well as an opportunity to read the colonel's lips framing the words "Shut. Up."

"Then this professor's presence here is not a sign of, of mistrust against me?" asked Memphis warily.

"No, of course not," said Artie affably, throwing an arm around the smaller man's shoulders. "Not for a moment!"

As Artie drew Memphis over to the desk to join the professor and the countess, Richmond leaned close to Jim and muttered, "Artemus is certainly hamming it up."

"Yes sir. But Memphis is buying it."

Richmond took another look. "Well, I suppose he is." The colonel skirted his desk and headed for the safe in the corner. "And now, gentlemen, Countess," he said as he knelt to work the combination, "if the professor will kindly put the Phoenix back into its case, we can store that lovely treasure overnight right…" He opened the safe. "…here."

In a matter of minutes the case with the Florentine Phoenix was secured within the safe and the colonel was moving his guests out the door. "We'll see you in the morning then, Mr Memphis, dear lady," said Richmond cordially. Keeley saw them out, and the four who remained in the colonel's office took a collective sigh of relief.

"You truly suspect the pair of them of plotting to obtain the Phoenix?" asked Montague.

"Oh, Countess Zorana, certainly," said Artie. "After all, she's a member in good standing of the Point-a-Gun-at-Artie Club."

"Oh, my word!" exclaimed the professor. "How appalling! But the curator. What of him?"

"Well," said Artie, glancing at Jim.

"It's not so much that we suspect him," said Jim, "as we suspect her of having plans to manipulate him into helping her acquire the Phoenix."

"A beautiful woman like that can be very persuasive," said Artie.

"Yes, yes. That's what we endeavor to teach the new class of recruits at the Academy every year, gentlemen, every year. And yet so many of them fail the Saloon test time and again. _Tsk-tsk-tsk_…"

"The, ah, Saloon test, Professor?" asked Artie.

"Oh yes," said Montague, his eyes sparkling with pride. "You remember my Living Room, of course, don't you, Jim?"

"Very well, Professor. You may recall that someone reconfigured it with live explosions to put me to the test."

"Oh. Yes. Quite." And again the professor clicked his tongue. "But, well, be that as it may, we've come up with an additional test for our recruits. A saloon, or barroom. Our young men must learn to either hold their liquor or know their limits, and the Saloon tests them on that, as well as on, ah…"

"On their susceptibility to the fairer sex?" Artie surmised.

"Precisely, Artemus! We present them with the opportunity to learn how to withstand the wiles of a cunning woman. And, ah, all too often, our young men succumb instead. Oh, dear dear dear."

"But they're learning to spot a honey trap," said Artie encouragingly. And when the professor only grimaced in reply, Artie added, "Aren't they?"

Richmond cleared his throat. "Well, gentlemen, it's already…" He consulted his pocket watch. "…nearly a quarter of five. I suppose you'll all want to have some supper, and then you and Artemus will be taking turns guarding here in the office tonight, Jim?"

"Yes sir. I'll take the first watch, and Artie will relieve me at about one in the morning."

"Fine, fine. Keeley will be here until you return."

"Yes sir." The agents shook hands with the colonel, then Artie turned to the professor. "Would you care to join us for dinner?"

"Oh yes, that would be simply… Ah, wait. No."

Jim and Artie each raised an eyebrow. "No, Prof Montague?" asked Jim.

"No. I, ah, I was letting it slip my mind, but I already have a dinner date this evening."

Now Richmond's eyebrows arched as well. "You do?"

"Oh, yes. I was going to mention it earlier, I believe, and then I lost track of my train of thought. Heh, train! Curious that I would use that expression, gentlemen! For you see, I met the most charming young lady on the train in from Denver. Lovely little thing. Said I reminded her of her dear uncle Arthur. She had such an odd name, though! Her first and last names seemed to be, ah, synonyms for each other. Most unusual thing…"

"Synonyms, Professor?"

"Why, yes, Jim. Isn't that odd?"

"What was her name, Professor?"

"Oh dear! That's just the problem, Artemus. I've completely forgotten! I'll just have to ask her this evening when I meet her at, ah…" His voice trailed off and he merely stood there, blinking and frowning.

"You've also forgotten the name of the restaurant at which you're to meet her?" put in the colonel.

The professor's scowl deepened. "My dear colonel, contrary to the stereotype that seems to exist for learned men such as myself, I am _not _absent-minded! I wrote everything down in my note…" He reached confidently into a pocket of his coat.

His face fell. With increasing desperation he patted at the rest of his coat pockets for a few moments, then smiled in relief as he discovered a battered old notebook in the hip pocket of his pants. "There! And as you can see, I wrote everything down right here." He flipped through some pages, then pointed. "There it is."

Richmond looked at the note. "Yes, I see the name of the restaurant, but not the name of the young lady."

"Hmm? Oh." Montague frowned, his brows knitting. "Well. No matter, no matter. When I see her, it shall come to me, I'm sure."

"Professor," said Jim, "would you like Artie and me to escort you to the restaurant?"

"James, I assure you that I am quite capable of finding my own way there by myself!"

"Now, now, Professor Montague," said Artie, "we're not implying anything of the kind. We'd just like to…"

Montague turned and wagged a finger in Artie's face. "Oh, I see how it is! If you're not implying that I'm a doddering old fool, then you must have in mind to steal the young lady from me! Well, it's not going to work!" A beatific smile lighting his face, he said, "She told me she delights in the _mature _man, saying that gray at the temples is a sign of wisdom, and that crow's feet speak of a long life of laughter, and that a querulous voice is a voice that sets her girlish heart aflutter." He smiled and gave a happy sigh, a faraway look in his eye.

Artemus stared at him for a long moment. "Ah, Professor, I, um…" He glanced at Jim and the colonel, his eyes twinkling. "I happen to know that you're not as mature a man as your gray temples show. You are, in fact, at least five years younger than I am and…"

Montague's mouth dropped open. He snapped it shut again, spluttered for a moment, then brought forth a rebuke of, "Why, Artemus Gordon, I'm surprised at you! You of all people should know better than to blow the cover of a fellow Secret Service man!"

And with that, the little professor swept from the office and away to keep his dinner date with the young lady whose name as yet escaped him.

Richmond, West, and Gordon all chuckled among themselves. "Imagine dear old Prof Montague with a girlfriend!" said the colonel.

"And a lovely little thing too," said Artie.

"A charming young girl who finds gray hairs and crow's feet attractive." Jim shook his head.

"Oh now, Jim, I've met a few younger ladies who appreciate a more mature gentleman, you know," Artie offered.

"Yes, I've noticed a few times when you've been disguised as an old codger and had to beat off the sweet young things with a stick," Jim agreed.

"But Prof Montague?" said Richmond in bafflement. "He's more curmudgeon than anything else. Deeply involved in his gadgets. Reading that monograph regarding tobacco ashes on the train. No offense, but what on earth about our good professor would have captivated this young lady of whom he told us?"

And then the penny dropped. As one, all three men lifted their heads and stared at each other, their laughter vanishing in a heartbeat. "What on earth indeed!" Richmond exclaimed.

"We were just talking about it," said Jim.

"Yes, the honey trap!" cried Artie. "Whoever this girl with the synonymous names may be, she must have gotten wind of the Phoenix!"

"Colonel, do you remember the name of the restaurant in the professor's notepad?" Jim asked briskly.

He certainly did and repeated it for them. Wasting no time, West and Gordon made hasty farewells and dashed off to follow Prof Montague to his assignation, leaving Col Richmond frowning at the safe in which lay the Florentine Phoenix.


	4. Act One, Part Three

**Act One, Part Three**

Morning came, and with it the fog. Col Richmond's carriage took him through the muffled streets, then pulled up outside the office building to disgorge him at the steps. No sooner had he paid the cabbie and started for the door than a familiar figure in powder-blue materialized out of the swirling white.

"Jim!" exclaimed the colonel, slightly taken aback. Recovering quickly, Richmond greeted his agent with a handshake. They entered the building together, presented their credentials to the guard at the front desk, and were buzzed inside.

"Well, Jim, what happened last night? You and Artemus followed the professor?"

"Yes sir, and he was none too thrilled when we showed up at the same restaurant."

Richmond snorted. "Yes, I imagine not! But the girl. Who was she?"

Jim shook his head. "She never arrived. Artie and I sat a few tables away from the professor, one of us keeping an eye on him and the other watching the rest of the room - and we never saw anything of a solitary woman at all."

"So Montague dined alone?"

"Yes, and at the end, he came over to our table and gave us a brief but thorough reaming out."

Richmond paused in the act of pulling out his key. "He did? The professor? Amazing!"

Jim laughed. "He certainly did."

"Dear me, perhaps this girl _has _gotten to him…" He was just fitting the key in the lock when hurrying feet came rushing along the hall toward them.

"Colonel Richmond!" a voice exclaimed.

"Ah, good morning, Keeley," said the colonel as his secretary dashed up, breathless.

"You're in early, sir," said the secretary. He had his own key in hand, looking somewhat nonplused to be arriving later than his boss.

Richmond let them all in and crossed immediately to the door of the inner office. "Coffee, please, Keeley," he said.

The secretary nodded and left the anteroom just as the colonel grasped the knob of his own door and turned it.

Or tried to turn it. It was locked.

Richmond's brows climbed. "Artemus?" he called. He rattled the knob. "Artemus, open up."

No answer.

"Hey, Artie!" Jim added his voice as the colonel produced the key for this door.

When there was still no sound from within, Jim took the key from Richmond's hand and swiftly unlocked the door. "Artie!" he called again as he shoved the door open. "C'mon, Artie, I know you love to pull practical jokes, but this isn't the time for that. Now, where…"

He trailed off. Where was the question indeed! A first glance around the room as the colonel crowded in behind him revealed no sign of Artemus Gordon.

"Artie?"

"Oh no. Jim! The safe! The Phoenix!" For in the corner of the office, the thick heavy door of the safe was standing wide open. Both men instantly headed for it, Richmond skirting the desk to the front and Jim toward the back.

Only Richmond reached the safe. He bent to look inside, then searched it carefully. "It's empty, Jim! There's nothing here. Nothing except for these… Jim?"

Silence replied. Richmond turned around.

Jim was kneeling behind the desk. "There's something here though," he said quietly.

Richmond jumped up and rushed to Jim's side. There on the floor, tucked part way up under the desk with a livid bruise sprouting on the forehead of his pale, pale face, was Artemus Gordon, lying silent and still.

…

Through the early morning fog with rapid strides a man hurried along, carrying a burden. What the burden was, he did not know; he only knew he had been strictly enjoined not to look under the all-concealing black cloth that covered it. His job was to act as the deliveryman and to ask no questions.

He did his job.

…

Richmond leaned over Jim's shoulder, his eyes on Artie's immobile face. There was a thin trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth, crossing his jaw and neck. "Jim," the colonel whispered hoarsely, "is… is Artemus…?"

"His pulse is strong, but he seems to be out cold, Colonel."

"But alive?" At Jim's nod, the colonel added, "Thank God. Keeley!"

"Yes sir, the coffee's here!" The secretary brought in a tray and set it down on his own desk out in the anteroom.

"Never mind about the coffee right now. Mr Gordon is injured! He needs a carriage to take him to the hospital at once."

"In… injured? Yes sir, right away!" He abandoned the coffee and raced off downstairs.

"You're going to be all right," Jim told his partner, his hand gripping Artie's. But if Artie heard his voice at all, he gave no sign of it.

"I'll get some men to help bear him down to the carriage once it's here, Jim." The colonel laid a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure Artemus will be just fine very soon now. I'm also sure you'll want to track down whoever is responsible for this."

"Yes sir." Jim tore his eyes away from Artie's face and looked up. "And the Phoenix is gone as well?"

"Yes, Jim. The safe is empty of everything except these." He held out the puzzling items he'd found in the otherwise bare interior.

Jim accepted the items with a frown, turning them over in his hands. "Feathers?"

Richmond frowned as well. "Why would someone have left four white feathers in the safe after taking the Phoenix? What are they supposed to mean?"

"These look like they came from a pigeon, I'd say," put in Jim. "And they look like they were shed rather than plucked. But why feathers? And why four?"

"Well…" said Richmond slowly. "White feathers are symbolic of cowardice."

"True," said Jim. "But whose cowardice?" He frowned at the feathers a bit longer, then turned his grim face toward Artie once more. His partner was still motionless on the floor, his only obvious sign of life his slow and steady breathing.

Keeley, panting, appeared in the doorway. "The carriage is here, sir."

"Good. Round up some men to take Mr Gordon down to it. I'll accompany him to the hospital. Jim?"

Jim was sliding the feathers into a jacket pocket. "Yes sir. I'll be doing my own brand of rounding up," he said with a resolute set to his jaw.

The colonel nodded. "Where are you going?"

"Right here," said Jim, pulling out the business card Gaspar Kutman had given him the day before.

"I see. Keep me informed."

"Yes sir."

…

She was kicking herself mentally for not being the first cabbie on the scene as she watched several men carry out the inert form of Artemus Gordon and load him into someone else's carriage. As she saw Col Richmond climb into that carriage as well, a familiar figure in powder-blue bounded from the building and sprang into her carriage.

"The Frémont Hotel, please," he said.

Pitching her voice low, she replied, "Yes sir, Mr W… mister." She shot him a furtive glance; had he noticed that she'd nearly called him by his name? If he had, he didn't show it. His eyes were on the other carriage, the one bearing his partner away.

The cabbie clicked her tongue to the horse and set off for the Frémont.


	5. Act One, Part Four

**Act One, Part Four**

The carriage drew up at the hotel and Jim got out. He tossed the driver a coin, then entered the lobby and headed up in the elevator to the fourth floor. Soon he was striding down the wantonly opulent corridor with its red-flocked wallpaper and its luxurious carpet. Paintings lined the walls, and beautiful _objets d'art _of all descriptions - figurines, urns, bronzes - stood on plinths at intervals all along the hallway. Jim shook his head at the lush exhibition as he stopped by a bust of Shakespeare to knock on the door of Suite 412.

He waited a few seconds, then knocked again. "Mr Kutman," he called out. "Mr Kutman, it's James West. I need to speak with you." Jim waited a bit more, listening carefully. He didn't hear the sounds of someone trying to beat a hasty retreat - but then Kutman hadn't struck him as the sort who would be able to do such a thing, particularly not through a window from the fourth floor.

Heavy footsteps sounded and the door was flung open to reveal the ever-scowling visage of Merle Koch.

Jim smiled pleasantly. "Good, ah… _guten Morgen_," he said, drawing upon his sparse store of German. "_Herr _Kutman, _bitte_."

Koch's eyes swept over him, then narrowed as he said… something.

What precisely the man said, Jim didn't know. It sounded, though, as if it had been a question ending with "_der Phönix._" Assuming that Koch had inquired about the bejeweled bird, Jim spread his empty hands and said, "No. _Nein_, the Phoenix isn't here. But I need to speak to…"

The man snorted and cut him off with another question. If _Herr _West did not have the Phoenix, why had he even bothered to come here? But as ever, Koch spoke in German, and so _Herr _West did not comprehend.

Jim studied the man before him. The last word had sounded like "here" - unless it was "hear"? Ugh. This would be a lot easier with Artie at his side to translate! "_Sprechen Sie _English?" Jim tried.

Again Koch snorted, then countered with, "_Sprechen Sie Deutsch?_"

Jim knew the answer to that question. "_Nein_."

Koch regarded the American for a moment, annoyed at the language barrier. How much easier, the German thought, it would be to speak with _Herr _West if only _Herr _Gordon were here to translate! Was there any point in advising the man to go get his friend and come back? Well… Likely he would not be understood, but it was worth a try. _"Gehen Sie Ihren Freund holen und kommen Sie dann wieder zurück," _he said and started to close the door.

Jim put out a hand and blocked the door. "I need to see _Herr _Kutman," he said. "_Bitte._"

"_Herr _Kutman _ist…" _and that was the only part of Koch's next statement Jim understood; the rest was an impenetrable mishmash of syllables. Kutman was what?

"Yes - _Ja, Herr _Kutman. I need to speak with him." Jim peered past the German, trying to spot the big man within the luxurious room beyond Koch's shoulders.

Koch turned his head for a moment to follow Jim's gaze, then frowned back at the American again. What was the man looking at? Why did he not leave? Koch had already informed _Herr _West that _Herr _Kutman was not available at the moment. Was it Koch's fault the American did not understand German? Scowling, he let West have a piece of his mind, growling out everything he had just been thinking - but all of it in Koch's native tongue, of course.

Jim sighed, trying to keep his patience as the incomprehensible sentences flowed over him. "Look, Koch," he said. His tone of voice was utterly reasonable, almost teasing, but there was an unwavering core of steel to it. "I don't _sprechen _any _Deutsch_, and apparently you don't _sprechen _any English, but I need to speak with _Herr _Kutman, and I mean to do so right now. Understand?" He fixed his eyes on Koch, smiling oh-so-pleasantly at the German. Anyone who knew Jim well would know that once he had that look on his face, it was wiser not to cross him.

Koch did not know Jim well. He scowled at the American a bit longer, then shifted his eyes to look up at the ceiling as he grumbled out, "_Ach Himmel!" _If only _Herr _West understood German! Well, he would try once more. Slowly, as if that would help, he intoned a sentence, then tilted his head to one side, closed his eyes, and laid a hand under his cheek. To accompany the next sentence, he opened his eyes and lifted his head, then held up both hands, all his fingers spread wide.

Ah! This Jim was fairly certain he understood. Judging from Koch's pantomime, apparently Kutman was still asleep, and would not be up until ten. Jim glanced at his watch and frowned. There was no way he was going to wait around for nearly two hours to speak with the man!

"Wake him up," he said decisively.

Koch shot him a puzzled look. _"Was ist das?"_

"Wake him up," Jim repeated. When Koch only stood there regarding him from under knitted brows, Jim added, "Either you wake him up or I will."

"_Aber…"_

That was enough. Looking beyond the man in the doorway, West called out, "Mr Kutman!"

Koch winced mightily. "_Nein, Herr _West! _Seien Sie still! Scht!" _He glanced over his shoulder into the room, then stepped quickly through the door and closed it behind him. Keeping his voice low, Koch earnestly implored the American not to disturb _Herr _Kutman. What if his employer blamed Koch for being awakened so early in the day? Koch certainly did not want to lose this job!

Jim pointed at the door. "I'm going in there," he promised.

"_Nein!" _said Koch. As West headed for the door anyway, Koch grabbed him to stop him.

The next thing the German knew, he was soaring through the air. He landed hard several feet down the corridor, sat up and gave his head a good shake to sling the cobwebs out of it, then bolted to his feet. West was just disappearing through the door and Koch scrambled after him. He dove into the suite a split second before West could slam the door and lock him out.

Unfortunately for Koch, his dive resulted in him landing hard once more, this time atop a gorgeous Persian carpet which skidded with him across the floor until both he and the carpet came to an abrupt halt crumpled up against the wall. Again he sat up and shook his head.

"That's all right, don't get up," said Jim. "I can find him on my own." He glanced around the elegantly appointed room, being sure not to lose track of Koch as he did so. Tall bookcases covered some of the walls, while the rest sported paintings and even a pair of crossed sabers. A grouping of sofas and chairs made for a conversation nook. There were four doors in view, including the one he'd entered by. One of the others was by itself, the final two in another wall opposite, just beyond an impressively large desk.

Other than Jim and the German, there was no one in sight. So Jim picked the isolated door and started toward it, calling out, "Mr Kutman!"

"_Seien Sie still!" _growled Koch. He scrambled up again and charged after West, grabbing his arm, swinging him around face to face.

And for his trouble Koch received a punch to the midsection. As the German doubled over, the wind knocked out of him, Jim caught the man and gave him a little spin that sent him sprawling onto the nearest sofa.

"You look like you could use a good rest, _Herr _Koch," said Jim. "You just take a breather; I'll see about _Herr _Kutman."

Koch glared after the man, sucking precious air back into his lungs, as West headed on across the room. Pushing himself up off the sofa, Koch made yet another lunge - but not after James West.

Jim reached the door of his choice and tried the knob. Locked. He lifted his hand to knock on the door, lifting also his voice to call out Kutman's name again, when there came a loud _thock_ right by his ear.

A saber, still vibrating from the impact, was embedded point-first in the door next to his head.

Jim whirled. There across the room was Koch standing tall and upright, still breathing heavily, with the second saber in his hand. For the first time in West's brief acquaintance with the sullen German, the man was smiling.

Yes, laughing even. Koch chuckled deep in his throat, relishing this golden opportunity to match blades with the legendary James West. Quite forgetting about _Herr _Kutman, Koch bowed to his opponent, slipped fluidly into a fighting stance, and said, _"En garde!"_

Jim eyed Koch for a long moment, then plucked the saber from the wall and examined it to assure himself that it was not merely decorative. Satisfied that his weapon was a good one, West saluted as well and took up his own stance.

The German moved closer, then began to circle West, feeling him out. West turned with him, watching him, waiting.

With a sudden broadening of his smile, Koch attacked. The sabers met, clashing against each other three or four times before the German leapt back. Again the men circled each other, and now West lunged in and blade rang on blade once more.

They broke off again, eying each other, each looking for an advantage. Koch feinted, trying to draw West off guard. Jim ignored the feint and took a cut at Koch.

There was a ripping sound, followed by a Teutonic oath as Koch glanced down and saw the gash in his loosely bloused shirt. Scowling more deeply than ever, he lunged at Jim, forcing him back toward a sofa.

Instead of falling onto the sofa, Jim leapt up onto the seat, then to the floor behind it. Koch followed, one foot on the seat, the other on the back - and tipped the sofa over with a cry of "Ha-ha!" He started to take another cut at _Herr _West.

But the man wasn't there anymore. He was… where was he? Koch whirled to look for him, only to flinch back, finding that Jim's saber was now a mere inch from his nose.

"Yield," said West, neither advancing nor retreating from where he stood beyond the sofa again.

"_Nein!_" growled the German. Jerking back, he beat West's saber aside, then leapt over the fallen sofa to attack West yet again. As the combat continued and the blades clashed together over and over, filling the air with the sound of metal on metal, another sound arose to drown out the music of the sabers.

"_What the blazes is going on here?"_

**End of Act One**


	6. Act Two, Part One

**Act Two, Part One**

Both men spun toward the door into which the saber had been embedded. Standing in the now open doorway was a heartily appalled Gaspar Kutman. The big man, dressed in a rich white dressing gown, his pale eyes bulging from their sockets, advanced with measured steps into the room. He surveyed the damage, then sputtered heatedly in German at Merle Koch, waving his hand at the overturned sofa, the disarrayed carpet, the cut in Koch's shirt and the saber in his hand.

Koch seemed almost to deflate, the hunch appearing in his shoulders again, the sullen look settling once more over his face. He murmured out what was apparently an explanation of the recent events, then crossed the room to replace his weapon on the wall. He turned back for a moment to look at West, tilting up one eyebrow at his worthy opponent. He then exited the room, disappearing through one of the other doors.

"My profoundest apologies, Mr West! I don't know what could have gotten into Koch that he would behave in such a dreadful fashion! He knows I do not like to be awakened before ten." He drew a deep breath and banished the displeased look from his face. "Still, as I am now thoroughly awake, I believe some breakfast is in order." He crossed to ring for a bellhop. "And what of you, sir? Have you eaten?"

"I've had plenty enough for now," Jim replied. He hung up his own saber just as Koch reentered, now wearing a different shirt. The German studiously ignored West as he went about picking up the furniture and generally setting the room to rights.

"But come, come, Mr West! I presume you have some business with me?" Kutman gestured to the desk, waiting until Jim was seated in front of it before settling himself into the massive throne-like chair behind it. Folding his neatly manicured hands together and resting them across his waist, Kutman leaned back and with a placid smile asked, "You have perhaps news of the Phoenix, Mr West? For I see you do not have that precious item itself."

"Correct," said Jim. "But before we speak of the Phoenix, I have a question for you, Mr Kutman."

Kutman's brows arched. "Indeed? Well, ask it. Ask away, my dear chap." The smile never left his face.

"All right. What were you doing between the hours of one and seven this morning, Mr Kutman?"

Now the big man's brows knitted. "What was I…? Why, sleeping, of course! Why? What business is it of yours?"

"Because," Jim said evenly, his eyes locked on the big man's face, "sometime between one and seven this morning, somebody attacked my partner and he is now in the hospital. I want to know who did it."

Kutman blinked, his smile abruptly vanishing. "What? Attacked?" His eyes snapped to the other man in the room and he roared out, "Koch!"

The German left off his tidying to stride to the big man's side. "_Jawohl, mein Herr?_"

There was a brief conversation as Kutman spoke in rapid-fire German to Koch, and Koch responded with the same. After a few exchanges, the big man waved Koch away.

"And?" said Jim.

"He knows nothing of the matter either. He too was sleeping."

"And you believe him?"

"But of course I do. I have no reason to doubt his word."

"Because he's been a faithful family retainer for lo, these many years," said Jim.

Kutman's eyes swiveled toward the German. "In fact, he has been with me only since I arrived here in San Francisco. I barely know the man at all."

He continued to regard Koch pensively as the man moved about the room, finishing the task of straightening up. "Ah, Koch…" said Kutman at last.

"_Jawohl, mein Herr?_"

Kutman said another sentence or two in German and gave a wave of his hand. Koch frowned in response, but then went to the coat rack and took from it his overcoat and the slouch hat. With a nod and a muttered, "_Auf Wiedersehen, mein Herr_," Koch left the suite.

"Where is he going?"

"Out. I have given him the remainder of the morning off. And now, Mr West…" Kutman leaned back in his seat once more, the easy smile returning to his face. "What news do you have for me of the Phoenix?"

"Oh, that," said Jim, watching the big man closely. "It was stolen."

"St-stolen!" Kutman gaped at him, a fine sweat breaking out over his pale white forehead. He produced a handkerchief from the pocket of his dressing gown and dabbed at his glistening face. "The Phoenix, stolen?"

"Yes," said Jim. "Apparently by the same person who attacked my partner. We had stored the Phoenix for the night in the safe in Col Richmond's office. My partner was there guarding it and…"

"Stolen!" Kutman whimpered, no longer listening to the bearer of such distressing news. Still patting the handkerchief over his brow and cheeks, the big man blinked and drew a heavy breath. "Frightfully… frightfully warm in here, isn't it, Mr… Mr West?" he said, gasping. "Would you… would you mind terribly opening the window?"

"Not at all," said Jim. He stood and crossed to the window. First he glanced outside to assure himself there was no one waiting out on the fire escape to jump him, then he unlocked the window and opened it. He turned back to the desk.

"Mr Kutman?"

The big man was sitting back in his chair, his face twisted into a grimace, one hand clutching at his chest. His eyes rolled to peer at Jim. "W-west…" he croaked. "Pain…"

His eyes rolled again, this time up into his head. He slumped over onto the desk with a great sigh.

"Kutman!" Jim sprang to the man and levered him backwards into the chair again, then felt his pulse. Weak, barely there.

Kutman's eyelids fluttered and he strove to look up into West's face, his lips trying to frame some word or another.

"Don't move," said Jim and sprinted for the door. He ripped it open and was about to charge down the corridor when he saw the summoned bellhop approaching from the elevator.

"You!" Jim bellowed, pointing a finger at the startled bellhop. "Quickly, go get a doctor!"


	7. Act Two, Part Two

**Act Two, Part Two**

Col Richmond walked into the hospital and went straight to the reception desk. "Is Mr Gordon in a room now, Nurse?" he asked.

She checked her records. "Yes sir. Room Twelve."

"Ah, good. And is there any word on his condition?" he added.

"No sir, not yet."

His lips set into a thin line. "May I see him?"

The nurse hesitated, but she had been given orders to permit this man to visit that patient. "Yes sir," she said and called for a nurse to accompany the colonel.

They arrived to find an armed guard on duty at the door. The guard snapped to attention. "Good day, Col Richmond, sir!" he said loudly.

"Good day, Sergeant. Is there any word on Mr Gordon's condition?"

"Sir, I have not been told."

"I see. Well, we'd like to see him."

The guard got the door for him and Richmond entered, followed by the nurse. It was a semi-private room, with the curtains surrounding one bed drawn completely. And there on the other bed in plain sight, clad in pajamas, his eyes closed, his hair tousled, and his face pale, lay Artemus Gordon.

Richmond crossed the room to stand by the patient's side. The nurse, meanwhile, bustled about checking the patient's pulse and other vital signs, all of which she noted down on the chart hanging from the end of the bed.

"Well," said the woman at length, "his heartbeat and breathing are strong, and those are good signs. The doctor will be by shortly to speak with you, Colonel."

"Thank you, ma'am," he said cordially. He smiled and nodded to her as she left the room, closing the door behind her. Then he pulled a chair over to the bedside and sat down with a loud sigh. "Well, Artemus…" he said.

One of the patient's eyes, the one furthest from the door, popped open and looked up at him. "Yes, Colonel?"

Richmond smiled. "She's gone."

"Good," said Artie. "Permission to recover, sir?"

Richmond's smile stretched into a grin. "Permission granted."

"Great!" Artie threw back the covers and bounded from the bed. "All right, Professor!" he called.

The screen surrounding the other bed flew open and out came Prof Montague. "Good day, Colonel," he said.

"Good day, Professor. How goes it?"

"Oh, it's going very well, very well indeed. Mind you, our agents who had the opportunity to view the Phoenix in the museums of Europe and Asia sent us very detailed reports."

"Yes," said Artie. "Because of those reports, we were able to assemble a great deal of the materials we would need already. It shouldn't take us more than, oh… how long would you estimate, Professor?"

Montague put out his lower lip and shrugged. "Two days. Perhaps three."

"And then we'll have a working replica of the Phoenix?" said Richmond. He came over and looked at the various tools and gleaming parts spread out all over the screened bed.

"A perfect decoy, yes sir," said Montague.

"So perfect we'll have to be careful not to get them mixed up," Artie added with a twinkle in his eye.

Richmond shot him a look. "That's not funny," he said. "Not funny a bit."

"Well, no sir, I know…"

"The whole idea is to leave the replica here in San Francisco while you recover from your supposed injuries and Jim investigates the purported theft."

"Yes sir, I…"

"And while we keep the attention of the potential thieves focused on the missing bird here, that will give Prof Montague the opportunity to head east with the real item."

"Yes sir. And…"

"So I really do not want hear about any possibility that the authentic Phoenix will be remaining here as a continuing target of the thieves while the Professor delivers the phony to the Smithsonian!"

"No sir. No, there's no chance of that happening," said Artie. He shot a look toward Montague that plainly stated Artie wished he had kept his mouth shut.

"Good!" snapped the colonel, sounding very much like his former days of command during the late War. "Now, we'll be keeping that guard on the door to make sure no one, not even the doctor, can walk in on the two of you without some warning and…"

A knock came at the door just then. As the professor disappeared into the screened area and pulled the curtains behind him, Artie dove for his bed and went back into his death-warmed-over act. Richmond waited a few seconds, then answered the door. "Yes, Sergeant?"

"Sir, a message was just delivered for you."

"Oh?" Richmond took the note and closed the door again. As he opened and perused the single sheet of paper, both Gordon and Montague emerged, curiosity marking their faces.

Richmond read the note, then crumpled it in his fist. His eyes closed and he pinched the bridge of his nose with his other hand.

"What's wrong, Colonel?" asked Artie.

Richmond held the wrinkled paper out to him. "It's from Jim. Apparently our favorite candidate for thief of the year just had a heart attack while Jim was interviewing him!"

"Kutman?" Gordon looked over the note. "They've brought him here, I see. Hmm…"

"What do you mean by 'Hmm'? Kutman was the strongest prospect we've identified for possibly going after the Phoenix. With him out of the game…"

"But he doesn't have to be out of the game, Colonel," said Artie.

"What do you mean, he doesn't… Wait a minute. I've seen that Mona Lisa smile on your face before, Artemus! What do you have in mind?"

"Well, sir. No one expects Artemus Gordon to be leaving this hospital room for several days to come, right? So if in addition to this pale makeup on my face I don a fat suit…"

"You're proposing you take Kutman's place?"

"Yes sir. That way we can find out who Kutman's contacts are when they come to see me instead of him and we'll be able to learn their plans."

Richmond shook his head. "That could be very dangerous, Artemus."

Artie shrugged. "No more dangerous than usual, sir. The main contact I'll need to fool is Merle Koch. I can pretend that my illness has left me too weak to speak much, and perhaps my silence will loosen his tongue, you see."

"Hmm. All right then. We'll need to let Jim know and…" Richmond paused and frowned. "You have a fat suit?"

"Ah, Colonel, you would never believe all the disguise components I have on the Wanderer! I'll just need to sneak out of here and go get them."

"Oh no. I'm already going to have to substitute you for Kutman. The more times you go in and out of this hospital in disguise, the more likely it is that someone will catch on. I'll go to the Wanderer personally and fetch your things for you. Just, uh, just make me a list of what you'll need."

"Yes sir. And I'll include on the list the directions for disabling the booby traps that protect my things."

"Thank you very much, Artemus. I… Booby traps!"

"Well, of course, sir! You don't want to wind up sharing this hospital room with me while you nurse a broken leg or a knock-out gas headache!" Artie smiled winsomely.

"Especially as the other bed is already taken," Montague added with a twinkle in his eye.

Richmond started to reply, took a closer look at the pair of scientists, then shook his head and waited for the list without another word.


	8. Act Two, Part Three

**Act Two, Part Three **

Bartholomew Memphis stood before the mirror in his hotel room adjusting his cravat, arranging his curls, checking his teeth and generally making himself presentable. His bags were already packed, and once he and the Countess Zorana had enjoyed breakfast downstairs, they would be ready to head for the railroad yards to board the Wanderer for their cross-country trip to Washington and the Smithsonian. A twinge of worry marred his smooth round face for a moment; supposing something should go wrong?

"Nothing can go wrong," he told himself firmly. He crossed to the door and set out along the hall to the countess' room.

Farther down the hall the elevator chimed and its door slid open to reveal…

"Ah, Mr West! Good morning! So good of you to come to escort us to your train. I was just going to see the countess."

"Good," said West, his eyes sharp, his face stern. "Let's see her together."

"Fine, fine," murmured Memphis. His big soulful eyes searched the hall beyond West. "But where is Mr Gordon this morning? Isn't he here?"

"We'll discuss that with the countess," said Jim. He took Memphis by the arm and steered him toward the woman's room, then knocked.

Moments passed, and then the door opened to the sight of the Countess Zorana, her hair perfectly coifed, her gorgeous beaded dressing gown flaunting an impressively low neckline. "Why, Mr Memphis! Good morning. And Mr West as well!" She smiled and stepped back, inviting them into the room, then looked about in puzzlement. "But where is Mr Gordon?"

"I already asked him, but he didn't tell me," said Memphis. He and the woman stood side by side, she slightly taller, as they both turned their curious faces toward Jim.

And Jim, watching them both carefully, dropped the news on them. "Mr Gordon is in the hospital."

"What?"

"Oh no!"

" 'Oh no,' Countess?" said Jim, fixing his piercing gaze upon her. "I'm curious that you would be so upset over my partner's health, considering the way you once threatened his life with a shotgun."

She shot a furious look his way.

"Or perhaps," Jim went on, "it's only that his sudden indisposition delays our trip to Washington."

"Delay!"

"But, but what…" said Memphis, his big eyes blinking rapidly. "What is wrong with Mr Gordon? He seemed perfectly healthy yesterday."

Now West's eyes settled on him. "He was. Until someone decided to clobber him over the head and leave him under the desk in Col Richmond's office for me to find."

The countess pressed her dainty fingers to her mouth. "Oh! Oh my!"

And Memphis' large eyes grew even larger. "Col Richmond's office! But… but isn't that where we were yesterday?"

And now the countess caught on as well. "Oh! The office with the safe where…?"

Jim nodded. "Where the Florentine Phoenix was placed for safe-keeping, yes. Also the place from which the Florentine Phoenix was taken during the night, presumably after the thief tried to scramble Artie's brains for him."

Again the countess pressed her delicate fingers against her mouth. "No! Oh no!" she cried and sank onto the nearest chair in shock.

But Memphis outdid her. With a sickly whimper of "No…!" the little man fainted.

…

As Richmond left the hospital carrying Artie's list with him, Artie turned to the professor and said, "I suppose you'll need to revise your estimate of how long it will take to finish the replica, since I won't be here to work on it with you."

"Quite all right, my boy, quite all right. If you continue to work on it with me now, I believe we just might have it nearly half finished by the time Col Richmond comes back with your things."

"What?" said Artie. He stared at the professor for a moment, then said, "But you told the colonel it would take us another two or three days."

"Well, yes… But I may have overestimated things. Slightly."

"Slightly," said Artie as he pulled up a chair at the hidden bed and began assembling gears. "Tell me, Professor, do you always overestimate things slightly?"

Montague chuckled. "But of course, Artemus! How else do you suppose I maintain my reputation as a miracle worker?"

…

"Quickly! Take him up and lay him on the divan!" the countess directed as she turned and swept from the room. Jim watched her leave, then picked up little Mr Memphis. He was just placing the man on the sofa when the countess returned bearing a basin of water and a small towel. She seated herself on the sofa as well and cradled the unconscious man's head in her lap, then dampened the cloth and began to bathe his face.

"Mr Memphis!" she called. "Mr Memphis! Oh dear, Bartholomew, do wake up!"

Jim stood silently by, observing the charming tableau of Countess Zorana striving to revive the man, washing his face, calling his name, patting his cheeks. Jim was on the verge of suggesting she take the remainder of the water in the basin and dump it over Memphis' head when the little man's eyelids at last fluttered open.

"What… what has happened?" he quavered.

"You fainted," said Jim succinctly.

"Fainted! But I…" Memphis sat up. "I don't remember…"

"Mr West had just explained to us," said the countess, "about the attack on his partner and the theft of the Phoenix."

Memphis blanched; taking the damp cloth from Zorana, he dabbed at his wan face. "Oh! Oh, yes. I… I apologize. How very embarrassing!"

Jim shrugged. "Perfectly understandable. At least you didn't suffer a heart attack at the news the way Mr Kutman did when I told him."

"H-heart attack!" exclaimed Memphis.

"Why, the poor…" The countess' voice trailed off. She shot West a piercing look, her eyes narrowing as her chin rose. "But who is this Mr Kutman?" she inquired.

"Someone who has expressed an interest in the Phoenix," said Jim. "He collapsed once he learned the Phoenix was missing, and is in the same hospital as Mr Gordon." He watched as the two before him exchanged surreptitious glances.

"But, dear me, what are we to do now?" said the countess.

"Our trip East is canceled, obviously," said Jim, "until Mr Gordon is better and the Phoenix is found. In the meantime, I'll be investigating."

"Ah. And us? What are we to do?" Memphis spread a hand to include the countess as he turned his large mournful eyes toward Mr West.

"You wait here. And if you should think of anything that might be useful to this investigation, anything that might help us recover the Phoenix or find Artie's attacker, you let me know." He nodded a farewell to them both. "Good day."

Jim drew the door shut behind himself, then paused, listening. The pair in the room were buzzing to each other, their sibilant syllables too soft, unfortunately, for him to make out the words.

Still, the point had been to stir up a few hornet's nests while Artie and the professor were working on getting the fake Phoenix ready. Having accomplished that, Jim donned his hat and strode out to the street to catch a cab back to the hospital to check in with Artie.

And as he gave his destination and settled back into the seat of the carriage, his cabbie only nodded mutely. Indeed, she kept her mouth shut the entire time as she drove Jim West to the hospital.

…

The guard snapped to attention as Jim approached the door. "Good morning, Mr West, sir!"

"Good morning," Jim returned. "Any word on how Mr Gordon is doing?"

"No sir, but Col Richmond is with him now, sir."

"Good. I'll like to go in, then."

"Yes sir." The guard opened the door and Jim stepped inside. At the one bed with the curtains half drawn sat Prof Montague busily assembling various gleaming components as Col Richmond looked on. The only other occupant of the room, standing before a mirror peering closely at himself, was… Gaspar Kutman?

Jim frowned and tipped his head, then ventured, "Artie?"

"Yeah, Jim?" said Kutman.

"What are you up to?"

"Getting ready to switch places with the real Kutman." A twinkle in his eye, Artie added, "You wanna help?"

Jim grinned. "Do you even need to ask? What do you have in mind?"

Grinning in return, Artie told him.

…

They were ready. Richmond went out first. The others could hear him chatting pleasantly with the guard for a few moments. Then, just as they'd planned, Artie went into a raging coughing fit. Professor Montague's eyebrows shot up as he gave a soft whistle of appreciation. "My word, Artemus!" he whispered. "One would swear you were coughing up a lung!"

Richmond stuck his head in at the door, then whirled to the guard. "Quickly, Sergeant! Go fetch the doctor!"

"I'm not to leave my post, sir!" the guard cried, but they could all hear the worry in his voice over the state of the patient.

"I'll keep your post; you go for the doctor, Sergeant!" the colonel ordered.

"Y-yes sir!" And from within the room they heard the sound of the guard's rapidly receding footsteps.

Richmond waved them all out. "I'll reassure the doctor once the sergeant brings him. Good luck, men."

The three set off through the halls, Artie dressed as Kutman, Jim carrying the case for Professor Montague, and the professor carrying the rest of his paraphernalia bundled up in a pillowslip. "Well, getting out of that room was simple enough, but how are we to get into Kutman's room?" he dithered. "Won't the guard there stop us?"

"Now, Professor!" Artie chided gently. "You're an instructor on secrecy and subterfuge. Don't you remember some of the most basic lessons you give our young agents?"

"Well… of course one of the primary ones is to walk into a place like you own it. Attitude is extremely important."

"Right," said Jim. "And another is invisibility."

"Invisibility?" The professor lifted an eyebrow, intrigued.

Artie grinned. "Precisely!" He stopped in front of a door and took a peek inside. "Ah, this should do admirably."

"But this isn't Kutman's room, is it?"

"No. But the contents of this room should get us into that one," said Jim.

"Yep. However," Artie added as they all three crowded into the room, "as I am already in disguise, I'm afraid the role-playing this time is going to fall to you, James my boy."


	9. Act Two, Part Four

**Act Two, Part Four**

Three men had gone into the room, but only one emerged again from the janitor's closet. One man, his face obscured by an impressive walrus mustache and pushing a large cart bristling with mops, brooms, and buckets. He toured through the halls with it, stopping here and there to sweep up some trash or polish a doorknob.

Softly, as though muttering to himself, he whispered, "You ok in there?"

"We're fine," came an equally furtive voice. "Just a bit cramped is all."

"Well, we're nearly there. Kutman's room is just around this next corner." The purported janitor wheeled the cart on round the corner and headed straight for the room in question, completely ignoring the guard.

"Halt!"

The janitor paused in the act of reaching for the doorknob. "Hmm? Something wrong?"

"Who are you? What are you up to?"

"Who am I? I'm the janitor. I've come to clean up the mess in there."

The guard shot a glance at the door. "What mess in there?"

Jim shrugged. "The usual, I suppose. Blood. Bedpans. All sorts of stuff comes out of a body in the hospital, y'know. Won't know till I get in there what's there to be cleaned up." He gave a sniff. "Of course, whatever's there, you'll be smelling it pretty soon here."

The guard sniffed as well. "I don't smell any... Ugh!" He yanked out a big bandanna and jammed it over his nose.

Jim did the same. "Yep, that's a bad one. I'll just take care of it." He reached for the doorknob again.

"Halt!" the guard ordered from under his bandanna. "You can't go in there!"

The janitor stared back at the guard for a long moment, then sighed and started pulling off cleaning supplies - a bucket, a mop, a large cake of soap - and piling them on the floor by the door jamb.

"Now what are you doing?" said the guard suspiciously.

"Well, if you won't let me in there to do my job, I guess you're planning to do it for me. And you're going to need all these things." He added a brown bottle to the pile, saying, "This'll get the blood up, but you have to work fast. Once it dries, the stain is permanent." He met the guard's eyes and held them as a whiff of that nasty odor swirled around them once more.

"Ah…" said the guard, his eyes watering. After a moment's indecision, he nodded. "Ok. All right. You can go in. Just… just don't let anyone know I let you."

"Good choice, son," said Jim as he gathered the supplies and packed them back onto the cart. "Get the door for me?" And with the guard himself holding the door for him, Jim pushed the heavy cart into Mr Kutman's room.

As soon as the door latched shut behind them, Artie and Professor Montague popped out of concealment within the depths of the cart. Jim gave the professor a hand with the case, and soon they had all his appurtenances spread out on the unoccupied second bed here, ready for the professor to continue his building project. Jim and Artie then turned their attention to Mr Kutman.

Artie first checked the man's vital signs. "Well, his pulse rate isn't all one could wish, but I think he'll survive the ride back to my room."

"All right. Let's get him into the cart." As Montague held the cart steady for them, the two agents struggled to shift the deadweight of the big unconscious man.

It wasn't easy, but they managed it. "By the way," Jim said to Artie as they took a brief rest afterwards, "I suppose that I have you to thank for that perfectly timed stench."

Artie just grinned and displayed a small vial, now - thank goodness! - securely stoppered.

"All right," said Jim, rearranging the janitorial supplies to better hide the occupant of the cart, "I'll be back shortly."

"Ok, Jim," Artie said, then snapped his fingers and winced ruefully. "Oh, wait a minute! I was forgetting."

"What's that?" asked Montague, pausing in his work.

"Kutman's rings," said Artie. He lifted one of the big man's hands, then the other, sliding the jewelry off.

"He was wearing them even in his dressing gown when Koch and I woke him up," Jim observed.

"Right. And if I'm not wearing them, anyone who knows Kutman well will wonder why." He slipped on the rings, then shook his head. "Yeah, that's what I was afraid of."

"His fingers are too big?"

"Yes, or mine too small. Let me think…" He patted at his pockets, then pulled out a ball of string. "This should do."

"You're going to wrap the rings then," said Jim.

"Right." He clipped off a length of string and began doing just that.

"Well, time to see Mr Kutman to his new room," said Jim. He pushed the cart to the door, glanced back to note that the professor and his equipment were now hidden behind the curtains and that Artie had hopped into Kutman's bed and was playing unconscious. Jim nodded and called out to the guard, "Mess is taken care of. Get the door for me, will you?"

…

The carriage drew up before the hotel at just the right moment as a small man with large eyes held the door for an elegant lady. "Ah, here is a cab!" he exclaimed and whistled to the cabbie, then helped the lady into the carriage. "The hospital, please," he said to the driver before settling into his seat.

The driver smiled to herself as she took her latest fare off to the hospital.

…

Artie finished wrapping the string around the band of the opal ring and slid it on. "Ah, much better," he observed to himself as he cut a second length of string for the diamond ring.

"My my my!" he heard Prof Montague exclaim. "Why, isn't this curious!"

"Hmm? What is, Professor?"

"Ah, well, have a look, Artemus. What do you make of this?"

Artie came and stood over the bed where the professor had all his materials spread out. "Well, you've taken the cushions out of the case, I see, though I'm not sure why."

"Oh, I did that back in your old room to be able to pack my equipment more efficiently. I put the parts for the new Phoenix into the case so nothing would be lost in the move, then put the real Phoenix and its key into the cushions and tucked them into the pillowslip there to carry them. But now that I've taken all the parts back out of the case, does anything strike you as odd?"

Artie frowned as he looked over everything on the bed. He hadn't examined the case closely before, but did so now. It was a foot square in length and breadth, and a foot and a half tall. The lid itself comprised the half-foot, leaving the main portion of the case a perfect cube. It was open currently, the two cushions, the white linen gloves, and the purple cloth all lying beside the case.

Artie glanced up at Prof Montague and saw how the man's eyes were glittering with anticipation. There was obviously something the professor expected Artie to notice.

He looked over it all again. The case. The gloves. The purple cloth. The Phoenix itself, nestled into its hollow in the smaller cushion. The larger cushion, only a couple of inches taller, sitting by its side…

He frowned. Only a couple of inches taller? Artie picked up the larger cushion and slipped it back into the case. Its top surface, as he expected, as he remembered seeing earlier without noticing, was flush with the upper edge of the case.

He took the cushion out again and stuck his hand in, feeling about, rapping his knuckles against the bottom. It gave back a hollow sound.

Prof Montague's eyes were positively glowing now. "Good, good! You see it too!"

"The inner floor stops a good three or four inches above the outer," said Artie. "This thing has a false bottom!"

Montague nodded. "So I too surmise. But why? And who's responsible for this?"

"Let's get it open and maybe we'll find out." Artie tilted the case, examining it closely. "Nothing on the outside, no trip or latch. But then I wouldn't expect one outside, since it might well get triggered by accident. Inside though…"

He felt around the interior, his probing fingers touching and poking and pressing every square inch of the inner surfaces until, "Ah!" One particular square inch gave way with a soft click. Artie and the professor both peered inside as the false bottom came free and Artie lifted it out completely.

Beneath was another cushion. Artie lifted this away as well. "Hmm, what have we here?" he said. For under the cushion were a set of five items, each well bundled, arranged in a quincunx: one lying in each corner and the fifth in the middle. Artie took up one and held it out to the professor. "Care to do the honors?"

Professor Montague slipped on the linen gloves, then accepted the item. Carefully he unwrapped it.

"Oh!"

Artie frowned. "What is that?"

"Gold, Artemus. And from the workmanship, quite old. Far, far older than the Phoenix, I would say."

"Well, yes, I knew when I picked that little thing up and felt how heavy it was that it was likely something made of gold." He gave a snort. "Explains why the case has been so unwieldy! But what is it?" He leaned closer. "It looks like a sphere extending into a cone on one side." He thought for about half a minute, then shook his head. "What on earth is it supposed to be?"

"Why, Artemus my boy," exclaimed the professor, "don't you know what we have here?"

"Ah, no."

Montague stared at him for a long moment before responding with, "That's quite all right, my dear fellow, for neither do I."

…

At the sound of voices out in the hall, Prof Montague disappeared within the curtains and Artie jumped for his bed just before the door opened. Someone who was no longer a janitor charged in with a bellow of, "Kutman, you louse, what did you do to my partner?"

Jim stormed across the room toward the bed in which lay the big, pale-skinned man. Conscious of the fact that the door hadn't shut behind him yet, he grabbed the fake Kutman by the collar of his fine white dressing gown and hissed into his pallid, non-responsive face, "I oughta…!"

At last the door shut. Instantly Artie's eyes popped open. "Hey, Jim."

"Hey, Artie." He released the collar and gave him a hand up.

The fake Kutman stood and straightened his dressing gown. "So, James, did you have any problems getting our friend into my old room?"

"None whatsoever. Col Richmond had the guard hold the door for me, and once he left, the colonel and I put Kutman to bed."

"With no small struggle, I can imagine," said Artie. "You know, the doctor's going to be heartily surprised when he finds out what we've done."

"Well, he was already in on the trick anyway. You may be the best actor I know, but even you can't fake a concussion _that _well."

"Hmph! I appreciate your confidence in my thespian skills!" Artie huffed good-naturedly. "Oh, but have a look at these, Jim! What do you make of them?" he added, excitedly showing his partner what Prof Montague had discovered.

Jim took up one and turned it over in his hands, studying its shape and the fine lines etched on its surface. "What are they?"

"That's what we were trying to figure out when…"

The sound of a feminine wail out in the corridor interrupted them. The three men exchanged startled glances, then Jim passed the chunk of gold to the professor and headed for the door.

"Is something wrong, ma'am?" came the voice of the guard outside.

"My… my ankle!" cried the woman's voice.

"Jim!" hissed Artie. "That's Zorana!"

Jim changed directions instantly, going instead to the professor. Swiftly he hid Montague and all his equipment along with himself within the curtains of the second bed. Artie was just hurrying for the first bed to lie down and play sick…

When the door sprang open and Bartholomew Memphis darted inside. He shoved the door shut again and looked around, his large eyes settling quickly on Artie dressed as Kutman and still upright.

Memphis' face suffused with anger as he sputtered out, "You, you _louse! _So you were faking it after all!"

**End of Act Two**


	10. Act Three, Part One

**Act Three, Part One **

Artie instantly pasted on a smile as little Mr Memphis glared at him, the smaller man's hands clenching and unclenching. "Now, now," said Artie, temporizing, "it's not what you think."

"Isn't it? _Isn't it?" _gabbled Memphis, his voice rising nearly to a shriek. Mastering himself with some difficulty, he hissed, "As soon as Mr West told Zorana and me that you had collapsed with a heart attack upon hearing that the Phoenix had been taken, I knew it was a lie, that you were faking this illness. And I was right! You only pretended to have a heart attack to make yourself look innocent, Kutman, to throw suspicion off yourself, but you cannot fool me. _You _stole the Phoenix!"

Ah! Artie nearly laughed out loud with relief. When Memphis had accused him of faking it, Artie had thought at first that the little man had penetrated his disguise and knew him to be Artemus Gordon, the one who really had arranged for the Phoenix to vanish and had faked the injuries upon himself. How good to learn that instead, Memphis believed him to be the real Kutman! And if Memphis thought Kutman had taken the Phoenix, Artie was perfectly willing to play along with that.

Recalling to mind Kutman's voice and speech patterns - lower and slower than his own, and somewhat stilted - Artie smiled a hooded smile and rumbled, "Ah, so you've found me out! Do forgive my little ruse. I suppose you're simply too smart for me."

Memphis snorted. "A baby pigeon would be too smart for you, Kutman! Now, where is the Phoenix? What have you done with it?"

"The Phoenix," said Artie, folding his hands across his ample waist as he warmed to his role, "is hidden away, my dear friend, in a place you wouldn't expect." Which was perfectly true.

"Hmph. I suppose you had Koch take it off and hide it…"

"Suppose whatever you wish."

"…but you see, I too speak German," Memphis smirked. "I might just be able to make a deal with him."

Artie chuckled. "Deal all you wish with Koch; you'll never get the Phoenix from him." Again, perfectly true.

Anger twisted Memphis' features once more. "Curse you, Kutman! What have you done with the Phoenix?"

"All in good time, dear fellow, all in good time. But you must admit, I have the upper hand here."

Memphis shrank down. "Yes. Yes, you do. But I don't want the Phoenix - not permanently. It was Zorana who planned to make it, ah, disappear once we'd reached land again. I only want…" He paused and turned his large, pleading eyes toward Kutman's face. "…fifteen minutes with the Phoenix. Just fifteen minutes alone with its dazzling beauty. To… to say my good-byes."

Fifteen minutes alone with the Phoenix? What, Artie wondered, could Memphis have in mind that would take just fif…?

Ah! Artie began to chuckle again, using the same rich, rolling sound he'd heard from the man himself in the carriage the day before. "Fifteen minutes alone with the Phoenix, is it? Or would it suffice you to spend fifteen minutes alone… with its _case?"_

Memphis gaped, his chin quivering. His shoulders sagged as he groaned, "Then you found them."

"Oh yes," said Artie, taking a very broad application of the word "you." "Five curiously shaped little lumps of gold. They should fetch me a pretty penny, my dear fellow." Artie eyed the man; now that they knew who had hidden the gold within the case, perhaps they could find out what the items were as well. "Of course, I'll probably just have the lumps melted down to sell it that way."

"No!" squealed Memphis. "Oh no, you mustn't! You don't know what I've been through, all the time and planning and bribes and… Please, please! Don't melt down the mice!"

Mice? Artie watched Memphis all but melt down himself.

"I… I found them years ago," Memphis confessed, "in a strange little shop in Cairo, of all places. The shopkeeper named me a reasonable price for so many items made of gold, but he didn't know what he had, no he didn't!"

"And you did."

"Oh yes!" The little man's face was alight, animated. "I was shocked that the five of them had managed to remain together for all these centuries. I've no idea what became of the five emerods that were originally with them. I wouldn't know what a gold emerod would look like, and I'm not even sure that I'd want to know."

Golden mice? Golden emerods? A memory was stirring in the back of Artie's head, a memory of a curious old Bible story he'd heard in his youth. "But if they are mice, Mr Memphis," he asked, "where are their ears? Where are their tails?"

"I wondered about that at first myself, Mr Kutman. In fact, I thought perhaps the ears and tails had been broken off at some point during the passage of time. But when I examined them, you see, I found no ragged stumps to show where such appendages were broken away. And then as I looked more closely, I saw fine lines etched into the gold outlining the shapes of the ears on their heads and delineating the tails coiled up around their bodies. Oh, if you only had them here, I could show you!"

Within the curtain, Prof Montague took up one of the mice and inspected it closely, then showed it to Jim, whispering, "He's right! See here? And here?"

Jim nodded and waved him to silence.

"So you discovered the five golden mice that the five lords of the Philistines made as an offering to appease the Lord God of Israel for having captured His Ark of the Covenant in battle, in the hopes of stopping the plague that was ravaging their cities," said Artie.

"Yes! Yes. Just imagine what a coup it would be for any collector of antiquities to own such an item!"

"And here you had found not one but all five!" Artie fixed Memphis with a glittering gaze. "But you didn't buy them for the Smithsonian, did you, Mr Memphis?"

"No. I… I didn't work for the Smithsonian yet. And my name wasn't Memphis. I bought them - haggled the price down and bought them. Then I hid them and set about making plans to smuggle them out of Egypt."

Artie's eyebrow arched. "If you needed to smuggle them out, that tells me you saw no legal means to remove them from Egypt. Why would that be, Mr Memphis? Were you perhaps known - well known - for illegal activities?" As Memphis blanched, Artie turned his eyes serenely up toward the ceiling and added, "If memory serves, I recall the tale of a certain little fellow wanted all through the Levant on charges of art theft, antiquities theft. A fellow by the name of, ah… dear me, what was the name of the city in which you discovered the mice? You remarked on it as if the name constituted a coincidence."

Memphis was now as white as a sheet. "Oh, please, Mr Kutman. Please! You don't know what I've been through trying to secure the mice! I changed my name a dozen times - finally managed to get hired by a museum. This assignment to escort the Phoenix was a godsend!"

"Ah? Then God sends help to thieves?" Artie rumbled out another laugh. "And what were your plans for the mice? No, let me guess: you would break up the set, selling the mice off one by one to private collectors, leading each man to believe that he had the only surviving mouse from of old, and then you would disappear to live on the proceeds, retaining, I should think, the final mouse for yourself. Hmm? Am I right?"

The look on the little man's face told him he was. Artie laughed again. "Such a pity then that you have lost possession of your precious mice, Mr Cai… forgive me, Mr _Memphis_. But all is fair in love and war - and in art theft."

"Please, Mr Kutman, I implore you!" cried Memphis, clutching suddenly at Artie's sleeve. "I'll do whatever you want. The countess knows you have the Phoenix. In her plan to steal it for herself, she was expecting me to help her. And now that you have the Phoenix, she'll expect me to help her take it from you." He sidled closer, a cunning look in his large eyes. "I can distract her," he said. "Foil her plans. Ensure that she doesn't steal it from you. Anything. Yes, even kill her!"

"You? Kill someone?" Artie scoffed. Not only was he skeptical that someone like Memphis could kill anyone, but as an officer of the law, Artie certainly didn't want this to degenerate into murder!

Memphis drew himself up as tall as he could and straightened his vest. "I… I've killed before," he bragged.

"Oh, I'm sure," said Artie, sarcasm oozing from every syllable.

"I have! More than once. It would be easy to kill her. Just…" He plucked at Artie's sleeve again. "Just give me back my mice, Mr Kutman. Please! You don't know what I've gone through. I _have _to have my mice back. Plea…"

Zorana's voice hissed through the door just then. "The guard has left to fetch a doctor for me! He will be back any moment, Jo… I mean, Bartholomew. You must hurry!"

Memphis leaned in close and whispered, "We are partners now, yes? I help you; you help me?" He held out a hand, which Artie, cold eyed, deliberately did not shake.

"Heh," laughed Memphis nervously. He lifted the ignored hand to run his fingers through his curls. "I… I have to go." He darted for the door and disappeared through it. From beyond the door the pair's voices lifted, particularly hers, then receded along with their footsteps into silence.

"Well," said Artie after a long moment. "Wasn't that interesting?"

Jim snapped open the curtains. "I'll turn the mice over to Col Richmond," he said. "In the meantime, what do you think, Prof Montague? How long will it take you to finish making the replica?" And as the professor frowned and cast his eyes toward the ceiling, Artie added, "Your, ah, _best _estimate, Professor."

"Ah! Well. I, I suppose… A day? Twenty-four hours? Provided, of course, that Artemus is able to stay and help me."

"A day," Artie repeated. "Amazing how your estimates keep getting shorter!" And as the professor smiled enigmatically, Artie added, "Well, I imagine that Mr Kutman can have another twenty-four hours to recuperate. Right, Jim?"

"Which Mr Kutman might that be, Artie?" Jim asked as he tucked the five mice, each well bundled, into various pockets of his jacket. "The original, or the new improved model?"

"Oh, either," Artie replied airily.

The corners of Jim's mouth quirked upwards. "Twenty-four hours it is," he said. "And as it looks like I've stirred up plenty of hornets for the moment, I believe after I report in to Col Richmond, I'll just go and keep vigil at my poor injured partner's bedside for a while, plotting my vengeance on the miscreant who put him into this hospital." He paused, a twinkle coming up in his eye. "You do realize, Artie, that there _will _be vengeance meted out for all this worry and anxiety I'm being put through."

"Worry? Ha! What worry? I'm the one who always worries enough for us both!" But then Artie shot Jim a look askance. "Wait, should I be worried? After all, _I _am the aforementioned miscreant who put me into this hospital."

Jim smiled that small devilish smile of his. "Well, that's the question, isn't it: _Should _you be worried?" And as Artie turned a querying glance at the professor, who responded with a baffled shrug, Jim opened the door and left.


	11. Act Three, Part Two

**Act Three, Part Two**

_Herr _Koch arrived back at his employer's suite to find the place deserted. This, while surprising, was not a great worry to him, not at first. Koch spent his time alone productively. He finished tidying up the last signs of the duel in the main room, then went into _Herr _Kutman's room to make the bed and comb through the closet and drawers. Coming up empty there, he headed back into the main room to go through the bookshelves, furniture, and desk.

Nothing. Curious; he was sure that if anyone had been behind the, ah, liberation of the Phoenix, it would have been… Hmm. Koch sat at the desk for a few minutes more, frowning, drumming his fingers on the desk top. He then arose, grabbed hat and overcoat, and headed downstairs to inquire at the front desk as to where his employer might have gone.

…

Twenty-four hours. The time, Jim thought as he settled into a chair alongside the real Kutman's bed, was going to pass far more pleasantly for Artie than for him. Artie would be active and doing something he enjoyed - working on a mechanical gadget - and would have Prof Montague to talk with as well. For Jim, on the other hand, there was the sedentary task of hovering at the side of a hospital bed playing the worried partner of an injured agent, and unless Col Richmond or the doctor dropped by, he'd have no one to talk to but the comatose Kutman.

Well, maybe Kutman would wake up and Jim would have the opportunity to interrogate the man. While the theft of the Phoenix had been merely staged, those who wanted to steal it were very real, and who knew what sort of information Kutman might be able to provide on them?

Now, whether the man would be _willing _to provide such information, that was another question.

If he woke up.

Jim leaned back in his chair and let his mind roam, thinking of Bartholomew Memphis and Countess Zorana, Gaspar Kutman and Merle Koch…

…

Merle Koch gave the driver of the carriage both a coin and a piercing look as he stepped out of the cab in front of the hospital. He paused outside to light a cigarette, studying the building and its surroundings as he leisurely enjoyed his smoke. His bright eyes under the slouch hat missed nothing as he sized up the organization of this place.

It was now late afternoon. He wandered slowly around the building, watching people come and go, focusing especially on those who seemed to work here. There had to be a way to get inside and up to _Herr _Kutman's room, Koch thought, preferably some way that did not involve him betraying his, ahem, _fluency _with English. Was there perhaps some position here at the hospital, some job he could, oh, borrow for a few minutes? Say, a janitor?

And then he spotted a certain entrance around the back and smiled. No, not a janitor. Here was another way.

Koch dropped the smoldering end of his cigarette, crushing it underfoot, then strolled inside the hospital to waylay one particular employee.

…

"All right, this part's ready," said Artemus.

"Hmm?" The professor set down the section he was working on to take a look at the component Artie had finished assembling. "Ah, nice, very nice." He took up another completed segment and started integrating Artie's portion into it. And as he did, a folded sheet of paper dropped from his pocket.

"I'll get that for you," said Artie. He bent and picked it up, laid it down by the professor's side, then started fitting together another section.

They worked in silence for some time. Then, his eyes riveted on the mechanism before him, Professor Montague commented, "I, ah… I seem to owe you and James an apology."

"Apology? For what?"

"Oh, for my displeasure with the pair of you last night."

"Oh, that." Artie chuckled. "You were a touch cross, at that."

"And all over nothing! You see, when I arrived back at my hotel after dining alone, I discovered _that _waiting for me." Montague nodded at the paper on the bed sheet before him.

"This?" Artie reached a hand toward it, then paused and shot the professor an inquiring look.

"Oh yes, yes, yes, you may read it," said Montague, his voice a hint more querulous than usual. He harrumphed and went on with his work.

Artie set aside the parts he'd been fitting together and opened the note. Scanning it quickly, he remarked, "Hmm. She addresses it to her dear 'Uncle Arthur.' "

Now the professor chuckled. "So she does."

"She begs - nay, implores! - your forgiveness, but the aunt she'd traveled here to visit insisted she come see her that evening, and therefore she was compelled to break her rendezvous with you… Hmm, and after that, she had a note to call on an uncle as well… And now she hopes to be able to dine with you - let's see, that would be tonight?"

"Yes, but I left a message for her at the front desk of my hotel explaining that dinner tonight would be quite impossible, as I have a prior engagement - knowing, of course, that I would be here working on our copy of the Phoenix tonight."

"And once it's ready, you'll be heading to Washington with the real thing, with no time left to reschedule dinner with Miss, ah…" Artie glanced down at the note to read the signature, only to exclaim in surprise, "Why, she didn't sign her name at all! She only wrote, 'Your Happy Girl'!"

"Ah. Yes," said Montague with chagrin. "As you may recall, while I didn't - and still don't! - remember the young lady's name, I did remember that her given and family names are synonyms of each other."

"And also synonyms for 'happy'?"

"Apparently."

Artie frowned as he folded the note and slipped it into the pocket of his white dressing gown. "Happy. Names meaning 'happy.' Well, there's Felicia and its variants." He glanced at the professor, who shook his head. "Ah. Well, what about 'Happy' itself?"

Again no.

Artie gave it a bit more thought as he went back to work. "Allegra?"

"No, not that either."

"Hmm… I don't recall many names that mean 'happy.' Given names, that is. As for family names, well, all that springs to mind immediately is Benedict - and that, admittedly, really has more of a meaning of 'blessed' instead of…"

Again Montague shook his head. "Oh, no, no, my dear Artemus, none of those names strikes the least chord with me at all, I'm afraid!"

"Well…" Artie sighed and set out to bring up a topic regarding the mysterious lady that he was sure the professor would not want to hear. "I, uh… you know, Professor, whoever this young lovely may be, I really think you should consider the possibility that she's befriended you as part of a hon…Hide!"

Artie hissed out that last word, dropped what he was working on, and scampered for his bed. For just then, before he could finish warning the professor of the potential honey trap, the doorknob gave a rattle and then the door itself began slowly to open.

From outside, the guard's voice said, "You've got it? Ok."

Artie risked cracking open one eye, checking to be sure nothing could be seen of Prof Montague. Yes, all was well. And at the door someone was entering pushing a cart before him, a cart with a number of covered dishes.

Dinner? Artie hadn't even thought about dinner. Should he be awake and eat it, or be unconscious still, he wondered.

And then he took a good look at the man pushing the cart and instantly chose unconsciousness. Merle Koch! What was he doing here? Or more importantly, what was he doing here pretending to be an orderly delivering Kutman's supper?

Artie closed the eye and let himself go completely limp. Of all the people he would need to convince with his Gaspar Kutman disguise, Merle Koch was the greatest challenge. Would he be able to fool him? He wasn't sure, but for now, he would simply be comatose and see if the makeup job and fat suit, at least, would pass muster.

The cart came to a halt and footsteps approached the bed. "_Herr _Kutman?" came the man's voice, raspy as usual, but hushed - to keep the guard from overhearing, no doubt, thought Artie. _"Mein Herr," _Koch said, and his hand took hold of Artie's wrist, feeling for his pulse. Koch gave a grunt, then touched the side of Artie's neck as well. _"Sein Puls ist regelmäßig," _he murmured to himself. A moment later a hand rested on the side of Artie's face, just below the temple, and a thumb gently lifted his eyelid. Artie found himself looking up into Koch's face. He forced himself to stay relaxed, making a great effort to keep his eye unfocused and dull.

Koch frowned and murmured, _"Braun…" _He released the eyelid and Artie let it fall shut again as naturally as possible.

Koch straightened up and shoved his hands into his pockets. He stood there at the bedside for a very long time, frowning, saying nothing. Then, with a sigh, he murmured, _"Besser der Spatz in der Hand als die Taube auf dem Dach," _and he turned and left the room.

The guard's voice called out after him, "Hey, aren't you gonna take the cart with you?" And when his only answer was the receding sound of Koch's footsteps, he called a second time, "Well, don't expect me to clear it away!"

Artie waited a moment more, then got up and went to the cart to inspect the food. The curtains slid open and Prof Montague joined him.

"What was that all about?" asked the professor as he turned up his nose at a bowl of very bland-looking broth.

"That was Merle Koch, my - as in, Kutman's - bodyguard." Artie cocked an eyebrow at a plate full of wiggly, bright red gelatin.

"And what did he say? I didn't catch all of it," added Montague, seizing on the only item of food that looked at all appealing.

Artie watched sadly as the professor made off with the plate of asparagus spears. At least they were plain; if hollandaise had been involved, he certainly would not have given them up without a fight! "Oh, what he said?" Artie repeated, dragging his attention away from the pilfered asparagus. "Ah. First he said that my pulse was strong. Then he looked in my eye and said, 'Brown.' "

Montague nodded vigorously. "Ah, yes! That much I understood perfectly. The words are pronounced alike, aren't they?"

"Exactly, Professor."

"Oh, but…" Montague paused and gestured with a forkful of his asparagus. "But, Artemus, what did he mean by that? Why did he say, 'Brown'?"

"He meant, no doubt," said Artie with a sigh, "that my eyes are brown although Kutman's are palest blue."

"Oh! Oh dear. Dear, dear me. Is that a problem?"

"I don't know," said Artie, finally deciding to sample the gelatin. "I had planned to wear a pair of tinted spectacles and claim the light hurts my eyes to disguise the fact that my eye color is wrong, but Koch caught me by surprise. However," he added after pausing long enough to take a taste of the gelatin, "it was the final thing he said that was the most curious of all."

"And that was?"

"Mmm," Artie replied, wrinkling his nose at the gelatin. "An old saying: Better the sparrow in the hand than the dove on the roof."

"Ah? Sounds rather like 'a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.' "

"Yes, it's the German equivalent." Artie frowned at the broth, then spooned up some of it anyway.

"But what is that supposed to mean?" asked the professor. "What bird does Koch have in hand?"

Artie grimaced at the broth and gave up on supper. "That, dear Professor, is what's likely to keep me awake all night. What indeed did Koch mean by that?"


	12. Act Three, Part Three

**Act Three, Part Three**

Jim West awoke to darkness. The gaslights were dim; the only other illumination came from the moonlight pouring in at the window to spill across the inert form of Gaspar Kutman in the hospital bed. Jim, in the chair at the bedside, barely moved a muscle. Only his eyes were active, roaming over the room, taking in all that could be seen - which was, granted, very little in the darkness.

Something had awakened him. But what?

A soft click announced that the door was opening. Instantly Jim was out of the chair and next to the door, ready, waiting. And once the door was fully open and a shadowy figure slipped inside, Jim sprang.

"_Mrph!"_

Jim had the man immobilized in a heartbeat, one hand over his mouth, the other arm pinning the man's arms to his sides. He struggled in vain for a few seconds before giving up.

"All right, I'm going to take my hand away," said Jim. "You promise not to call out?"

The man gave a small tight nod.

"Very well. Then who are you and why are you here?" Jim removed the hand.

"M-Mr West," the man sputtered. "I'm the doctor!"

Dr Milburn? Jim turned the lights up to see the familiar middle-aged man straightening his white coat. "What are you doing here at…" Jim consulted his pocket watch. "…three in the morning?"

"Checking on my patient, of course!" Milburn crossed to the comatose man in the bed, had a look at his chart, then lifted his wrist. "Col Richmond informed me of your change in room assignments. I already chewed him out, but now that I have you here, let me do the same for you! It would have been far less traumatic for my patient to have come here by gurney rather than stuffed inside a janitor's cart!"

"Less traumatic, but also less discreet. We didn't want it known that he is now here, and my partner over there."

"Yes, yes," said the doctor crossly. He finished with Kutman's vitals and scrawled them down on the chart. "You realize," he commented brusquely, "that the top of this chart is all full of Mr Gordon's information. We have yet to make _that _change!"

Ignoring the doctor's bad mood, Jim nodded toward the patient. "And how is Mr Kutman?"

Milburn sighed. "Well, it's hard to tell, you know. He seems to have stabilized, so it's now mostly a matter of waiting - and hoping - for him to wake up." The doctor gave West a sharp glance and added, "And waiting is hard on you, isn't it? For a man of action like you, inactivity is not your strong suit." His gruff expression softened slightly. "Look, if you're tired of being cooped up in this room, why don't you go stretch your legs for a bit? Things are quiet right now; I'll stay with him."

Jim nodded. "All right. Thanks. I'll take you up on that." He collected his hat and headed out, giving a nod to the guard as he went past. He took the stairs at his usual breakneck pace and was soon outside. Once there, he roamed about getting some fresh air, automatically noting everyone and everything in the area.

Not that there were many people out and about in the middle of the night. A few nurses were entering or leaving, and about a block down the street stood a carriage, its horse shifting between the shafts, its cabbie bundled up in a cloak, head down, dozing on the driver's seat.

Why would a cabbie be parked out in the street at this time of night, Jim wondered. Casually he wandered closer.

The red glow of a cigarette within the deep shadows of the carriage caught Jim's eye. Hmm, the cabbie had a fare then. The glow brightened and subsided as the unseen smoker puffed on it. Seemingly looking elsewhere, Jim patiently watched, gradually putting together details such as the fact that the smoker was holding the cigarette reversed, in the European fashion, and that the face behind the cigarette was bearded, with the brim of his hat pulled down severely.

Ah, thought Jim, and now he strolled on, meandering about the hospital's grounds. So that's who the man in the carriage was. But why was Merle Koch keeping watch over the hospital in the middle of the night?

…

Morning came, and with it Col Richmond and a companion to visit Jim West. After Richmond introduced Special Agent Stan Wilson, he went over to have a look at the patient.

"Has he awakened?" he asked, observing how the man's great belly slowly rose and fell.

"No sir. Not yet."

"Hmm. And what does the doctor say?"

"He looked him over about five hours ago," said Jim, then filled the colonel in on the prognosis.

"I see." He stood watching the comatose man for a bit longer, then turned away. "Wilson will stay here and watch over Kutman, Jim. Let's go see Artemus."

…

The guard opened the door to usher them in. Artie in his fat suit was seated on the edge of his bed, tucking into breakfast, while Prof Montague, with his own plate of toast, eggs, and bacon by his side on the other bed, was fitting components together.

"Good morning, Colonel!" Artie smiled. "Morning, Jim. Care for some breakfast? We have plenty."

"Looks good," said Jim and helped himself while the colonel contented himself with some coffee.

"It _is _good," Artie agreed. "Far better than the bland slop - if you'll pardon that word - Merle Koch brought up last night." He paused, waiting for the reaction.

He was not disappointed. "Merle Koch!" exclaimed Col Richmond. "He was here?"

"In the flesh," said Artie and went on to describe the encounter. He concluded with, "But it's curious that the food this morning is a perfectly normal, if somewhat prosaic, meal. The supper last night was insipid in the extreme." He gave a shudder to illustrate just how very bland it had been.

Montague agreed. "Yes, it was the sort of food one would expect to be served to someone who is quite ill."

"True, whereas this…" Artie waved a hand over the repast. "…is more to the taste of someone who is, well… _well_. Now, I don't know _why _my diet was changed - not that I'm complaining, of course."

"Perhaps the doctor ordered the change, knowing you would prefer a normal diet," said the colonel.

"Hmm… Maybe."

"But getting back to Merle Koch," Jim put in, and now he filled them all in regarding his own overnight observation of the German.

"Oh? Watching out for his employer perhaps?" said Richmond.

"I don't know. If so, he must have forgiven Kutman for the change in the color of his eyes," Jim remarked, and he shot a glance at Artie.

They ate in silence for a while. Shortly the door opened again, this time to admit Richmond's secretary, Mr Keeley. "Good morning, sir. Here's the professor's valise." He set a cracked and battered brown leather bag down on an empty spot on the bed being used as a workbench.

"Thank you, Keeley. And you sent the rest of his luggage on to the train depot?"

"Yes sir, just as you asked."

"Fine, Keeley, fine. That's all then." The colonel turned away, but Artie, noting the longing look in the secretary's eyes, spooned up some of the eggs onto a slice of toast, crisscrossed some bacon over it, then added a second piece of toast on top. He wrapped it all up in a napkin and passed the sandwich over to the young man, who accepted it with thanks and headed off again with his breakfast in hand.

"Planning to get rid of me, are you, Col Richmond?" the professor asked jovially.

"Well, according to Jim, your most recent estimate for the completion of our bogus Phoenix would be sometime this afternoon, correct?"

"True, true, that is what we told him yesterday." He raised an eyebrow and shot a glance at Artemus.

"Now, once the phony Phoenix is ready, Professor, you'll need some way to conceal the real one as you transport it back East. I assume you've given some thought to this."

"Oh my, yes!" Montague drew the valise Mr Keeley had just brought to him closer and rummaged in it for a moment, then pulled out a small jug. "What do you think of this, Colonel? My, ah, medicine, shall we say?"

Richmond frowned. "That had better not be what I think it is!"

With a chuckle, Montague passed the jug on to Artie. "And you, dear fellow?"

Artie uncorked it and took a whiff, then whistled. "What is that, about eighty proof?" he exclaimed.

Jim held out a hand for the jug. Artie chuckled and splashed a little of the contents into his coffee before passing it on. Jim too took a sniff, then corked the jug and studied the earthenware container carefully. It was a normal looking jug with a ring-shaped handle near the spout at the top. Most of the body of the jug was dark brown, with the bottom third glazed a lighter shade of brown. Jim turned it over, paying special attention to the line where the lighter glaze at the bottom started, then took hold of the bottom and gave it a sharp twist.

"Excellent, James!" crowed Montague as the entire bottom of the jug unscrewed to reveal a hollow space inside. Taking up the real Phoenix, the professor carefully wrapped it up in a soft thick cloth, then tucked it into the clandestine hollow in the bottom of the jug.

"And the key?" asked Richmond, watching with interest as Jim reattached the bottom of the jug.

"That goes right here," the professor replied. He emptied the valise, then slipped the bejeweled key into a small crevice in the floor of the piece of luggage, hiding it completely. He now repacked the bag, tucking the jug in as well and cushioning it with a few articles of clothing and some scientific journals. "There we are, gentlemen. Everything's quite ready to go."

"Everything but the copy of the Phoenix, yes."

"Right, Colonel," said Jim. "And, ah, how much longer do you expect that to take, Professor?"

"Ah. Well. If Artemus is finished breaking his fast?" He turned a mock-severe look at Artie, who dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, then stood and came over the work area. Artie looked over the various components littering the bed sheet and took one up. He held it up to the morning sunlight streaming in at the window, then with a flourish passed it into his other hand, closing that hand around it.

"Artemus…" said the colonel with impatience.

"Now, now, Colonel. Don't let your attention wander. The piece I picked up should be here, shouldn't it?" Artie unfurled his fingers to demonstrate that his hand was now empty.

"Yes, yes, you're a fine magician. But now is hardly the time…"

His voice trailed off as Artie leaned closer, then brought up his other hand, saying, "Why, what's this? Col Richmond, are you really in the habit of carrying a large golden orb behind your ear?" And lo and behold, Artie brought his seemingly empty hand up just beyond the colonel's field of vision, then with a flick of his wrist produced a glittering golden sphere.

"What?" Richmond clapped his hand to his ear and gaped in astonishment. "How did you do that?"

Artie smirked. "Now, now! Magicians never tell their secrets!"

"Magicians indeed!" Richmond accepted the sphere and studied it closely. "First you told me it would take another two days, if not three, Professor!" he protested. "Then you told Jim it would be ready this afternoon."

"Hmm, well, if you'd really prefer to wait a few more hours, give it back to me and I'll tinker with it some more," Montague offered.

"No, no. This is… satisfactory. Completely satisfactory." Richmond turned it in his hands some more. "That is, if it works?"

Now Artie produced the key. He accepted the orb from the colonel and passed both items on to the professor, who then wound it up and put the phony Phoenix through its paces.

"That, ah," said the Colonel as the device snapped itself closed again at the end, "that's not precisely the same as what I remember the original doing."

"True. But we didn't want to make it exactly the same," said Artie.

"And this makes it easier for us to avoid confusing the fake with the real," Jim offered.

"Yes, and should one of the thieves manage to make off with our copy, we want him to realize it's phony as soon as he tests the Phoenix."

"Or she."

"Yes, but what if the thief realizes too quickly that he merely has the copy of the Phoenix? Or she," the colonel added with a glance at Jim.

"Oh, by the time any thief makes that discovery," Artie replied, "Prof Montague here will be a quarter of the way across the country."

"Hmm. True. Well!" The colonel clapped his hands together. "Then we're all set. Professor, may you have a pleasant and quiet trip to Washington."

"Thank you, sir. I'll be traveling back to Denver first, to make it look like I'm simply returning home."

"Good, good. Jim, what are your plans for today?"

"To spend part of it watching over my injured partner," and he crooked an eyebrow at Artie, "and the rest continuing my investigations of Koch, Memphis, and Zorana. We want to keep the three of them off-balance as much as possible, as well as making them think we have no idea where the Phoenix is."

"Fine. And you, Artemus? What about you?"

Artie laid a hand over his heart and slid effortlessly into his death-warmed-over act. "I shall languish here upon my bed of pain until such time as the good Dr Milburn decrees I may repair once more to my luxurious suite at the Hotel Frémont, no doubt under the tender loving care of my dutiful _Herr _Koch, there to, one hopes, be contacted by Gaspar Kutman's confederates in his designs on the Phoenix."

"And chew a bit of scenery while you're waiting, right, Artie?"

"Why, James! You cut me to the quick! I have no need to gnaw on scenery, not after the excellent breakfast of which I've just partaken!"

Richmond rolled his eyes. "Fine, gentlemen, just fine. You two can make your reports to me this evening. And, Professor…" The colonel held out a hand and Montague clasped it in fond farewell. "Be careful. Never let that valise out of your hands."

"I will. That is, I won't. That is… Oh, you know what I mean!" He donned his coat and hat and took up the valise. "Good day then, Colonel, Jim, Artemus." He went out the door, bid the sergeant at the door a friendly adieu as well - much to the astonishment of the guard who had had no notion such a man was in that room - then headed off along the corridor in search of the stairs.

"Well, that's done," said the colonel. He frowned down at the remaining parts scattered on the bedsheet. "But why are all these still here?" he asked.

"Ah, well," and Artie set out explaining how the professor had deliberately overestimated the numbers and kinds of parts to prepare in advance in an effort to be sure they wouldn't run short. As he talked, Artie packed up the fake Phoenix into the case.

And while Artie was busy with the colonel, Jim stood at the window watching and waiting for Prof Montague to come into sight below. He was frowning, beginning to wonder if something had gone wrong, when at last the professor's slight figure emerged into view and strode for the street. He raised his arm to hail a carriage. Almost immediately one drew up and the driver hopped down to help the passenger inside. Jim watched as the driver regained his seat and half turned, no doubt listening to the professor's destination.

Then the cabbie shook out the reins and the carriage drove off, turning at the next corner and disappearing from Jim's sight. "All right, he's away," he told the others.

"And so should we be. Artemus." The colonel shook his hand. "I'll send someone by for the, ah, Phoenix later."

"Right, Colonel. Jim." Artie gripped his partner's hand and said, eyes twinkling, "don't spend all your time fretting over your poor ol' partner, languishing at death's door..."

A small smile lit Jim's face. "Oh, don't worry, I won't," he said.

"Uh-huh, uh-huh! Look at that! See? Here I am, wasting away, cut down in my prime, and do you even give me a second thought, James?"

Jim's smile broadened. "Nope. Not even a first one."

Artie grinned and gave Jim a little cuff on the shoulder. "See you later, Jim." He turned to help himself to another cup of coffee.

Jim and the colonel headed for the door, only to hear the guard speak loudly, "Good morning, Doctor! How are you doing this fine day?"

"Wishing it started later," replied Dr Milburn, fatigue evident in his voice.

The colonel stepped forward and opened the door. "Good morning, Dr Mil…"

Richmond froze in mid-sentence, staring past the doctor and the guard. Jim too was caught by surprise.

For beyond them both, out in the hospital corridor with a carpetbag in his hand, stood the ominous figure of _Herr _Merle Koch.


	13. Act Three, Part Four

**Act Three, Part Four**

Prof Montague settled back into his seat for the short trip to the train depot. Tiring quickly of watching the unfamiliar streets of San Francisco go by, he opened his valise and withdrew one of his scientific journals and was soon immersed in an article regarding secret writings, with one hundred sixty separate ciphers analyzed. And yet, though he found his reading thoroughly engrossing, the gentle rocking of the carriage combined with his lack of sleep from having worked through the night to gradually lull him into a pleasant dreamless slumber.

The cabbie glanced back and noted the passenger was sound asleep. Smiling, the driver kept on driving.

…

At the doorway to the hospital room, a gabble of voices instantly broke out:

"Ah, Col Richmond! Just the man I wanted to see!" That was the doctor.

"What is he doing here?"

"Why is Koch here?" Those were the colonel and Jim.

"Koch?" This came from Artie, who quickly sat down on his bed.

And from Koch himself, _"Was tun sie hier?"_

"Ah, yes, well… You see, Mr Koch here," said the doctor, stepping into the room, "showed up at my office bright and early this morning bearing this note." He handed a slip of paper to Richmond. The colonel read it, started to pass it on to Artie, caught himself, and instead gave it to Jim, who read it aloud:

_The bearer of this note, _Herr _Merle Koch, wishes to know the condition of his employer, Mr Gaspar Kutman. _Herr _Koch is well capable of taking care of Mr Kutman at his residence in the Frémont Hotel should Mr Kutman be sufficiently recovered to leave the hospital._

"Well, Colonel?" the doctor asked. Nodding toward Artie, who was already deep in conversation with Koch, Milburn said, "Our Mr Kutman here does seem to be sufficiently recovered. Unless he's under arrest?"

Keeping up the act that their Mr Kutman was the real Mr Kutman, the colonel and Jim fell into a brief discussion with the doctor over Kutman's legal standing.

Koch, meanwhile, had gone straight to the side of the big man in white and hissed out his question again, demanding to know what they - Richmond and West - were doing here. Slipping into Kutman's voice and mannerisms, Artie replied in German, "Ah, they were interrogating me. But what can they learn? Neither you nor I stole the Phoenix."

Koch gave a grunt in response and said, "Then they will release you? You no longer seem ill. I made arrangements for you to have a proper breakfast this morning. And there is the Phoenix: you wish to locate the Phoenix, but that is difficult to accomplish from a hospital room."

Artie regarded Koch sharply. The man seemed to have accepted Artie's impersonation of his employer, eye color not withstanding, and seemed also to be thoroughly engrossed in Kutman's goal of acquiring the Phoenix. Leaning closer and lowering his voice, Artie inquired, "Have you learned anything of it?"

Koch shook his head. "Everyone who was looking for it seems only to be more anxious to find it. None give any sign of knowing its whereabouts."

Artie nodded. Well, that was to be expected. None of those who had been after the Phoenix _should _know its whereabouts.

Koch now swung up the carpetbag and set it on Kutman's bed. "I have brought clothes for you in anticipation of your release."

"Good man!" said Artie. As Koch began pulling articles of clothing from the carpetbag and laying them out one by one on Kutman's bed, Artie switched to English to address the others. "Am I free to go then, gentlemen?"

Richmond, Jim, and the doctor finished consulting among themselves. "You are," said the colonel, "but under certain conditions. You are not to leave San Francisco for the time being."

Artie rumbled out a laugh. "So I expected. But I would not dream of abandoning this lovely city! Not yet, anyway."

"And," added the doctor, "there are certain matters of your health care I should like to go over with you and Mist… er, _Herr _Koch. If you'll come to my office?"

"But of course. Koch has supplied me with attire; I will be with you shortly." And as all the others filed out, Artie glanced over at the second bed and realized with a wince that the case bearing the fake Phoenix had been sitting there in plain sight the whole time.

…

"We're here, Uncle Arthur!" called a voice.

Prof Montague woke with a start. Why, where was he? Ah, in a carriage. Here was one of his scientific journals on his lap and his valise by his feet. Here was his cabbie hopping down from the seat and opening the door for him. And yet where…? Montague frowned and shook his head. Where was the woman whose voice he had just heard? And of all things, she had called him Uncle Arthur!

Now the cabbie stood in the open doorway and doffed his hat while at the same time peeling the mustache right off his face. "Hello, Uncle Arthur," said the same soft voice. Montague's jaw dropped. The cabbie! He was not a he but a she, and what's more, she was not just any she, but she was in fact…

"My Happy Girl!" the professor exclaimed.

Her eyes twinkled as she peeled away her eyebrows as well, the heavy mannish ones giving way to more finely-arched feminine ones. "Then you do remember me! I was beginning to think you'd forgotten all about me after the way you begged off from our dinner date last night." Her pretty pixyish face transformed into a mask of woe.

"Oh no, my dear!" Montague assured her. "Of course I hadn't forgotten you. Far from it! But I had a prior engagement last night and couldn't get free. And now that you've brought me to the train depot, I'm afraid I must return at once to Denver, so you see…" As she held the door for him, the professor stepped from the carriage and took a look around, then frowned. "Ah… This… this doesn't look like the railroad yards," he remarked to the young woman.

"That's because it isn't," she replied as she took up his valise and set out striding toward a large building that looked more than anything else like a great empty box.

"Now, now, my dear!" cried Montague and rushed after her. Catching up with her, he tried to take the valise from her, saying, "Just because you're my driver - and I've no idea why you've been masquerading as a man - that's no reason for me to be so unchivalrous as to permit a woman to carry my luggage!" And he stripped the valise from her hand.

She stared at him for a second, then laughed. "Very well then, Uncle Arthur. Have it your way. Follow me?" And she led the way to the building.

"Ah, just where are we, my dear?" asked the professor.

"Here? This is a warehouse," she replied as she unlocked the door. She started to pull the door open as well, but Montague insisted on getting it for her. She smiled and nodded her thanks, then swept inside before him.

"And why are we at a warehouse?" he asked, still wishing fervently that he could remember her name. He would feel so awkward to have to ask her for it and admit he'd forgotten!

"Why are we at this warehouse?" she repeated to him as they reached an inner door. She unlocked this as well, then stood aside to allow the professor to open it for her. She stepped through and he followed. She then turned and locked the door behind them. "We're here," she replied, "because there are some people who would like to meet you."

And immediately from behind the various stacks of boxes and barrels all throughout the large room about a dozen men emerged, each man armed with a gun or a stick or a knife. And as the pretty girl dimpled at him, Prof Montague suddenly realized what sort of friendship hers had truly been.

He had walked right into a honey trap.

…

Agent Stan Wilson, having been relieved of his duty of sitting with the real Kutman, followed his new orders and walked into another room of the hospital, one that had been recently vacated. Wilson picked up the heavy wooden case he found there and set out to carry it to Col Richmond's office.

He was just a touch annoyed at having to play deliveryman twice in as many days. And he couldn't help noticing that, while his current burden was somewhat lighter than the previous one, this case had the exact same dimensions as the item under the black cloth he'd borne through the fog from Col Richmond's office to the hospital. Now he was making the return journey in broad daylight.

Why his orders had been to proceed by foot, he didn't know, but it was not for him to question orders. He set out taking the shortest route possible, walking along streets and down alleyways, following also his orders not to look back.

Had he disobeyed, he might have noticed a man in powder-blue trailing after him. But Wilson resolutely looked forward only as he hurried to deliver the case to its destination.

…

"A good day to you then, Dr Milburn," said the man who looked like Gaspar Kutman. Artie walked out of the hospital accompanied by Merle Koch, who was still carrying the carpetbag. Koch swiftly hailed them a carriage and they set off to return to the Hotel Frémont.

…

Another alleyway. Agent Wilson sighed, wishing he could look back, wishing he could take another route - or better, a carriage. Well, he told himself, let's get this over with. Hefting the case, which felt like it was getting heavier by the moment, he hurried down the alley.

He reached the end. Nothing untoward had happened. He turned the corner.

_Clonk! _Wilson didn't even see it coming. The blackjack had whirled out of nowhere, clobbering him over the head. Down he went.

"N-no offense," said a soft whispery voice as the case was stripped from Wilson's unresisting hand. Someone scuttled away bearing the case.

Someone else dropped to one knee at the downed agent's side. "Wilson? You all right?"

"Ow," grumbled the young fellow, sitting up and pulling off his hat. There was a definite dent in the crown. "Thank goodness for Mr Gordon's steel-plated inner crown," muttered Wilson. "But let me tell you, Mr West, that still _hurt!"_

West gave the young agent a friendly thump on the shoulder. "But you're ok?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll live. I won't be happy, but I'll live."

Jim grinned at how much the young fellow sounded like Artie. "Good job, Wilson," he said, then sprang up and hurried off in the direction Bartholomew Memphis had run off with the case.

…

The carriage pulled up in front of the Hotel Frémont and _Herr _Koch hopped out, holding the door with one hand, helping his employer to descend. Artie put on an air of lingering sickliness as he waited for Koch to fetch the carpetbag. The German then took the _ersatz _Kutman's arm and guided him toward the hotel entrance.

They didn't make it. A pair of tough-looking men, each with his right hand buried in his coat pocket, stepped out of nowhere and blocked their progress. "Gaspar Kutman?" said one.

Artie frowned and drew himself up, asking irascibly, "Oh, whatever do you want?"

"You, if you're Kutman," said the tough. "You're wanted."

"Am I? By whom?"

The tough smiled; it was not a pretty sight. "By a lady."

The other chuckled. "Believe it or not," he put in.

"What lady?" asked Artie archly. The countess, he presumed. He was perfectly willing to go along with these goons, but knew he should at least put up a token of resistance. Well, Kutman's style of resistance, of course.

The toughs both chuckled now. "Well, sir," said the spokesman of the pair, "the lady in question said for us to tell you if you asked, that she'll be _happy _to give her name once you're face to face with her." He gave a nod. "Now move."

"But, sir, I must protest. I…!" Artie began, breaking off when one of the toughs pointed his coat pocket at him, for there was something inside the pocket, something tubular and rigid and very like the barrel of a gun straining against the fabric.

"I said move it, fat man!" growled the tough.

Koch's hand tightened on Artie's arm, and Artie wondered how much of the conversation the bodyguard had understood and whether he was making ready to fight. Softly, in German, he advised Koch, "It seems we are being taken to see a lady."

"_Wegen der Phönix?__" _Koch breathed back.

Who knew if this was regarding the Phoenix or not, Artie thought, but aloud he said, "I hope," then translated his reply into German for Koch's benefit.

With the two toughs escorting them, they caught a new carriage and set off for parts unknown.

…

Memphis was so happy! The case. He had the case now. Zorana of course would want the other contents - perhaps she would even be able to keep them - but about that Memphis cared not a whit. He had the case again! He scuttled along the alleys heading back toward the hotel. Once he had regained his own room, he would use his keys, the duplicate keys he'd had made when he'd supervised the construction of the case in which the Phoenix was to make all its travels, the case he had altered with his own hands to include the false bottom for his treasures, his babies, his precious precious mice. Oh, he could hardly wait!

Here was the hotel, the back entrance. He rushed towards it, his eyes so full of the anticipation of opening the case that he didn't notice anything until…

_Whump! _He ran right into two big men. They were blocking the doorway. Why were they blocking the doorway? "Ex, ah, excuse me," he murmured, trying to get around them.

One great hand closed on his arm. "You're coming with us," rumbled an immense voice.

"What? Wait…"

"Come along," said the other. His hand closed on - no! - on the case, wresting it from Memphis' grasp.

"No!" he wheezed. "No, give it back, give it back!"

"Come on, little man," said the man with the case. "Never keep a lady waiting." He started off, and the other hauled Memphis after him. Indeed, Memphis hurried after the first man, his huge woeful eyes locked on the case that held not just his mice but his soul.

A carriage was waiting at the end of the alley. In it sat a man and a woman. The man Memphis did not know, but he recognized the woman.

"Zorana?" Memphis all but wailed out her name as the men thrust him into the carriage, then climbed in after him. "Zorana, what have you done?" the little man implored. "What is going on here? Why have you sent these men to…?"

"What are you babbling on about, Bartholomew?" she replied, her voice cross but her head held high as the carriage started out. "What have _I _done? I have done nothing but lived to see the day when ruthless American hoodlums kidnap me and take me from my hotel room! My only consolation is that they have taken you as well!"

"But, but, but… but they said a lady…"

As the carriage turned out of the alleyway, before it could begin to pick up speed, a blur of powder-blue darted out of the alley and hopped onto the boot of the carriage. Wherever Memphis and the countess were being taken, thought Jim West, he was going along too.

…

Professor Montague clutched the valise to his chest and tried to stare in every direction at once. "Who… who are these men?" he gasped.

The young lady smiled. "My insurance," she replied. She moved on into the room where a grouping of chairs had been set up on and around a large Persian carpet. The chairs faced a small elegant table, behind which stood one more chair, this one the finest of them all.

She seated herself in that chair. "You see, Uncle Arthur - or would you prefer I cease calling you that? _Professor_, I should say, there was a reason I was on that train coming in from Denver when we met, a specific reason. I had been hired, you see, to steal the Florentine Phoenix. And when I noticed you on the train with all your reading material, your books and journals and pamphlets, I said to myself, 'Here is a man of learning. Perhaps he can tell me some things about the Phoenix my employer hasn't, things that will make my business go more smoothly.' And so I struck up that conversation with you, sounding you out, flattering you." She smiled. "Ah, well, I really do like the look of an older man. I wasn't lying _too _badly to you.

"But then," she said, and now she leaned forward. "Then I brought up the Phoenix. And for a second - just a split second, mind you - your eyes lit up with delight. And from that I knew the Phoenix was a subject on which you had made a special study. But you know what you did next?"

"Oh, now now now, I, ah, I'm sure that…" he babbled. For he did know what he'd done next. Of course he knew!

Her pretty eyes grew dark. "You said to me, 'Florentine Phoenix? Why, whatever is that?' And from that moment on, my dear Professor, I knew you were lying to me. And why, I reasoned, would you deny knowing anything about something you obviously found delightful?" She smiled at him. "The only reason I could think of was that you were coming to San Francisco because the Phoenix would be here, just as I was. Either you were a thief like me and also planning to steal the Phoenix, or else you were part of the government team coming to protect it on its way to Washington. Time, I knew, would tell me which of those possibilities was the correct one. In the meanwhile, I wanted to keep track of you. So I made the dinner date with you and through that learned the name of your hotel. I broke that date and suggested the following night, and from that learned you would be busy. But busy doing what. Hmm?" Her eyes twinkled at him. "I also took on the role of a cabbie and by that means was able to track not only you, but several others who are here in connection with the Phoenix. And now, here you are, and here those others shall be shortly." She waved a hand at the chairs. "And my men are here." A nod to her minions. "The only question remaining then, dear Professor, is where is the Phoenix? But you will tell me that now, won't you?"

And she dimpled at him prettily as she reached under the table to produce a gun of her own, aimed it straight at his heart, and pulled back the hammer.

**End of Act Three**


	14. Act Four, Part One

**Act Four, Part One**

A carriage drew up at the warehouse, disgorging four passengers. The last one out was a large man in white. The man who helped him to descend then reached in to grab a carpetbag, and followed that up by supporting the big man as the others growled at them to hurry.

Just as they reached the door, they heard another carriage arrive. From it alighted a small man and a regal woman, along with three big bruisers. As the quintet headed for the door as well, Artie spotted that one of the bruisers was carrying a case. A very familiar case. Ah, then either Memphis or Zorana had made a direct play to snatch the Phoenix, thought Artie. And as that case was here, a certain agent in blue would surely be in the vicinity as well.

And yes, Artie spotted a quick flash of powder-blue as someone slipped off the boot of the carriage to disappear around the nearest corner of the warehouse. Had anyone else noticed Jim? He hoped not. But as Artie turned back toward the door, he found _Herr _Koch was watching him intently, his brows drawn down. The German pointed back toward the second carriage by means of a slight movement of his chin and hissed, _"Der Phönix?"_

Ah, so it wasn't Jim's presence that had caught Koch's attention, but the arrival of the treasure! No doubt about it, the German was quick on the uptake. Artie gave a nearly imperceptible nod and whispered back, _"Ja,"_ since that _was _the whole point of using the case, to make everyone believe the real Phoenix was in it. Happy to have furthered the ruse, Artie leaned heavily on Koch's arm as the bodyguard supported him toward the now-open door.

"You!" A swish of skirts accompanied by the sound of a woman's shoes rapidly clicking closer led Artie to turn back. He saw the fury written across Countess Zorana's face, saw the way her eyes flashed directly at him and the way her hand was raised on high and drawing back - and he dodged. Just in time, too. Her slap whizzed by less than an inch from his nose. The dodge, he knew, was far more dexterous than a man of his purported bulk and state of health should have been able to pull off, but the thought of how her slap might well have knocked off the fake jowls he'd glued to his face had been ample reason for him to move fast.

And then he let himself fall down onto his keister, just to come across as being every bit as awkward as his fat suit made him look.

"_Herr _Kutman!" Koch exclaimed. He bent to help him up, then brushed the dust from his white suit.

A screech drew their attention. One of the bruisers had caught the countess about the waist and was holding her in mid-air as she protested mightily. "You!" she accused again, pointing at Kutman. "This is all your fault! If you hadn't stolen the Phoenix…!"

"_I? I _stole the Phoenix?' Artie intoned, affronted. "My dear madame! How dare you accuse me of stealing the Phoenix when its case was clearly in the possession of you and your confederate!"

"Ah…!" The countess gaped at Kutman for a moment, then turned her furious glare upon Memphis. "Bartholomew, you told me…!" she fumed.

The little man gave a nervous, "Heh," and scurried away toward the open door, giving a little polite nod to the bruisers at either side as he rushed past them to go in.

The toughs who had collected Kutman and Koch scowled at them, urging them inside as well, while the man who still held the seething Zorana up off her feet growled at her, "Well, lady? You gonna cooperate?"

She glowered for a long moment before giving a swift silent nod of her head. "Good choice, lady," said the man as he set her down. She yanked herself out of his grasp almost before her feet touched the ground, then swept away from him, her head held high. As she entered the building, her glittering eyes fell on Memphis, at whom she hissed, "I'll deal with you later!"

Memphis grinned nervously and sidled away. He couldn't put very much space between himself and his angry confederate, though, for the toughs and the bruisers were herding all four captives from the entrance straight toward an inner door, at which one of the toughs knocked loudly.

…

Professor Montague clutched his valise to his breast and goggled at the young woman. "You cannot be serious!" he exclaimed.

"Well, of course I'm serious, Professor," she replied, her voice as soft as ever and perfectly reasonable, as if to say that aiming a cocked gun at a man was an absolutely normal part of her day. "You're carrying the Florentine Phoenix," she said. "I'm sure of it. That was to be your part in this scheme. But I've seen through the subterfuge. While everyone was supposed to be running around in a panic searching for the bird - James West included - _you _were to simply take a train and head East - to Denver first, I'm sure, and then on to Washington. And you can still do that - minus the Phoenix, of course." Dimpling again, she held out the hand that wasn't pointing the gun at him. "Provided you live, that is. The Phoenix, Professor."

"But… but I…" he sputtered.

She gave a sigh. "Oh now, don't be tiresome. I used to be a professional assassin. No one expected a pretty young thing like me to suddenly turn and kill him. But I eventually gave that up and turned to theft. So much tidier, you see. However," and her eyes turned cold, "don't imagine that the fact that shooting you will leave a large pool of blood on that expensive Persian rug on which you happen to be standing - don't imagine, Professor, that knowing _that _will stay my hand."

Montague blinked and took an involuntary step backward.

She smiled, flashing her dimples again. "Oh, how considerate of you to spare my rug!" Her finger began to tighten on the trigger.

A knock sounded at the door.

She paused. "Hmm. It seems our other visitors have arrived. Very well, Professor, I shan't kill you. Yet, that is." She pulled out a key and dropped in on the table. "Thatcher, get the door." And as one of her gunmen moved to obey, the woman pointed the barrel of her gun at a bare patch of floor while she carefully uncocked the hammer. "There." Smiling, ever smiling, she slipped the gun out of sight under the table again and turned to greet her new guests.

…

The door was opened by a man whose pugnacious attitude easily made him the twin of any of the five bruisers and toughs escorting the four captives. The impromptu doorman stepped back to let the newcomers enter.

The countess, naturally, was the first in through the door, accompanied by the bruiser bearing the case. Memphis scooted in right behind them, his mournful eyes locked on the case which he could see but not touch. Next came Koch, carefully supporting the pallid Kutman. The remainder of their escorts crowded in as well, after which the doorman locked up again.

Artie was playing his role of a man deathly ill right to the hilt, his steps faltering as Koch helped him along. From under half-lidded eyes, Artie took in the layout of the large room into which they'd been brought, noting the armed minions scattered behind the stacks of boxes and barrels, noting also the incongruous parlor area in the middle of the room. At the sight of Prof Montague standing there with his valise clutched to his chest, Artie had to stifle a groan. But it was when he turned his attention to the pretty young woman seated regally in her chair behind the table that Artie nearly choked. Her! _Her! _He recognized her at once: the brunette hair, the heart-shaped face, the wide dark eyes under thick eyelashes. "Of course!" he murmured to himself sotto voce, "why did I never think of the name Joy?"

"_Was ist das?" _asked Koch.

"Nothing," said Artie, then repeated his answer in German.

The young woman now came to her feet with the grace of a trained dancer. "Do come in, all of you," she said, "and be seated. Professor, you may take a chair as well. Oh, and Rayburn, please bring that case here and set it on the table. Thatcher, I'd like that man's carpetbag as well." She pointed at Koch. "And you, Professor. Your valise belongs on the table here also."

Koch was loathe to give up his carpetbag, arguing in German until Artie murmured something placating to him. And if Koch was slow to relinquish his bag, the professor was even more so.

The young woman watched in silence for a few moments, then sighed. "Professor," she said, a hint of sharpness slipping into her gentle voice. "Remember what we were speaking of just before the rest of the guests arrived."

Blanching, Montague shot a chagrined glance at Kutman, then gave up the valise.

"Well!" said their hostess, taking her seat again behind the three varied pieces of luggage on the table before her. "And now, my honored guests, won't you all sit down?"

Scowling, the countess perched herself in a chair. And once all the ladies were seated, the men sat down as well.

"There!" said the hostess. "And now I suppose you're wondering why I've called you all together here. And for that matter, while the countess knows me quite well, as does Gaspar…"

She was on a first-name basis with Kutman? thought Artie, endeavoring to betray not a whit of surprise on his face.

"…the rest of you do not. You, I suppose, are Mr Memphis?" She glanced at the little man, who nodded. "And this," she added, turning, "must be _Herr _Koch. _Guten Tag, mein Herr."_

Koch nodded and responded in kind.

She smiled at them all. "…whereas I am an international jewel thief and erstwhile assassin. My name…" She paused dramatically. "…is Ecstasy La Joie."

"Ecstasy! Of course, that's it!" exclaimed the professor. "Oh, I knew it was synonymous with 'happy'! I'm not completely batty."

"My dear Professor, of course you aren't," Miss La Joie assured him. Turning her pretty smile upon the room in general, she said, "But now down to business. I've called you all here to inform you that I now have the Phoenix." She leaned back in her chair and proclaimed, "Let the bidding begin."

…

Jim had watched surreptitiously as Artie and the rest were taken inside the warehouse. He then headed around back, looking for another way in. He shortly came across the two carriages. One of the drivers was talking to his horse as he went over the animal and harness to make sure all was in order. "After all, who knows, Charlie?" he told the horse jovially. "Job like this, we might just hafta get outta here in a big hurry, so I want ya ta be ready ta vamoose." He finished checking everything, gave the horse an affectionate pat, then turned.

To find the barrel of a gun in his face. The driver gaped, eyes wide, at the man in powder-blue at the business end of the revolver. "Wha…?"

"You're not going anywhere," said West. "You were just involved in a kidnapping, and so you're under arrest. Now where's the other driver?"

The click of a hammer being cocked gave him the answer as the cold iron mouth of a muzzle pressed up against his head right by his ear. "Lookin' fer me, were ya, me bucko?" came a voice from much too close behind him. "Seems like instead of arrestin' me good friend Stansbury there, ya'll be handin' yer gun over to 'im, nice an' easy-like. Hmm?"


	15. Act Four, Part Two

**Act Four, Part Two**

"I sure am glad ta see ya, Callahan!" said the driver. With a smile, he started to take the gun from Jim West's hand.

Jim released his grip on the revolver and it fell right to the ground. Stansbury in front of Jim let out an oath as he bent to retrieve the gun, while Callahan behind Jim made the bad mistake of letting himself get distracted by the fall of the weapon. The muzzle of his gun drifted slightly, and as soon as it lost firm contact with West's head, the Secret Service agent swept his arm up into a block, shoving the gunman's hand out and away from him. He then brought the same arm back sharply, ramming his elbow into Callahan's diaphragm. The air spouted from the gunman's lungs and he doubled over.

Jim switched his attention to Stansbury. As that fellow started hastily to straighten up again, Jim double-hammered him on the back, then brought a knee up, crashing it into the man's chin. Down went Stansbury.

Jim spun to face the still-gasping gunman and grabbed him by his hair to immobilize him. With an admonishment of, "From now on, stick to driving," Jim finished him off with a haymaker.

He paused for a second to catch his breath, then made sure both men were out cold. He collected the guns from the ground and slid his own back into its holster. The other he tossed under the driver's seat of one of the carriages.

"Sorry, Charlie," he said to Stansbury's horse and gave it a comforting pat on the nose. Then Jim headed on toward the back door of the warehouse to let himself inside.

…

"Bidding!" exclaimed Countess Zorana. "What do you mean, bidding? I already paid you twel… that is, several thousand dollars to help me acquire the Phoenix and take it out of this country. How dare you turn the Phoenix over to anyone other than me, particularly to that…" She glared at Kutman. "…that corpulent _nouveau riche_… Ugh!"

Artie chuckled and inclined his head toward her in a bow of irony. At that moment a light tap on his shoulder drew his attention. _"Mein Herr," _Merle Koch said sotto voce.

"_Ja_, Koch?"

As ever in his native tongue, Koch whispered to Kutman, "The young lady is forgetting something, I believe. She and I _have _met before. You remember that the night before you fell ill she came to visit you at the hotel. I answered the door, then you gave me the evening off leaving the two of you there alone, so that at the time I presumed she was there as an, ah…" He smirked. "…assignation. But you were conducting business with her, were you not? This business of the Phoenix. The countess hired her to steal the Phoenix, but so did you!"

Artie replied with a noncommittal suspiration, but inwardly was thanking Koch profusely. Why the man should find it necessary to give him such information just at this moment, he didn't know, but whatever Koch's motive, Artie was glad of it. Well, provided Koch was right. Artie turned his attention back to the squabble between the two women.

"As you are double-crossing me," the countess was saying, "in that you expect me to bid on that which I have already paid you to obtain for me, then I must insist you return to me my money!"

Ecstasy only smiled. "But my dear Countess, I no longer have your generous retainer."

Zorana glowered. "Then you are a bigger thief than I believed you to be."

The young brunette's smile broadened. "I had business expenses to take care of. This warehouse to rent, and these good minions to hire." She waved a hand, taking them all in, then leaned forward and steepled her fingers, contemplating the other woman over the top of her hands. "If you insist on having your money back, I'm afraid you'll just have to take it straight from the wallets of the men you see around you. Armed men, my dear Countess, who aren't likely to give up anything to you without a fight.

The minions all glared at Zorana and brandished their weapons. Zorana opened her mouth to object, then closed it with a snap. Folding her arms, she swiveled in her chair to give Ecstasy and her men a fine view of her back.

Miss La Joie gave a silent laugh, then turned her attention to Kutman. "And what of you, Gaspar? What is your bid?"

…

A loading dock door at the back of the warehouse yielded to Jim's lock pick and he slipped inside, closing the door softly behind him. He paused to listen and heard the voice of a young woman saying, "And what of you, Gaspar? What is your bid?"

Bidding? For the Phoenix? Is that why Memphis and the countess had been picked up, for the case the little man had been carrying? If so, someone was in for a big disappointment. But of course that had been the plan.

The voice though: soft, feminine, young… Jim had heard it before. He could hear it in memory even now, saying to him… yes, saying to him, "Enemies forever."

Her? But how had _she _wound up in all this, Jim wondered as he headed cautiously deeper into the warehouse, following the sounds of the voices.

…

Artie returned Miss La Joie's laugh. "Why, my dear, it seems I could easily top the lovely countess' offer by bidding a mere dollar! But that is not what you want. That would be a joke, and you are not a woman to trifle with jokes, as I can see. Therefore my bid to you is the same offer I made to _Messieurs _West and Gordon the other day: ten thousand dollars. Cash." Seeing a slight frown developing between Miss La Joie's eyebrows, he added quickly, "That is of course in _addition _to the funds which I have already paid you."

The frown cleared, and Artie breathed an inward sigh of relief at having guessed correctly that Kutman had already given Miss La Joie some money - no doubt the very envelope the big man had offered to Jim and Artie in the carriage.

Ecstasy inclined her head to him and said, "Then Gaspar's bid is twenty thousand dollars. Back to you, Countess."

Every eye turned to look at her, to find that her back was still doing the talking for her.

Ecstasy chuckled. "I see. Would anyone else care to bid? Mr Memphis? Professor? _Herr _Koch?"

This unleashed a number of responses, with the professor protesting that he was not part of this bidding war by any means, the countess protesting that Memphis was with her and certainly would not be bidding, and Kutman pointing out the same thing about Koch.

…

Jim frowned. Professor? Who was Ecstasy addressing as professor?

And then he heard Montague's voice averring that he had no part in this matter, and Jim realized that things were more serious that he had known.

More cautiously than before, Jim crept closer to the source of the voices.

…

"In fact," Artie said to keep in character, "it seems to me, my dear Mis…" No, she'd called Kutman by his first name. "…my dear Ecstasy, that the bidding is already over and I have won. I fear I haven't the money on me at present, having just come from a hospital stay. Had your men permitted me to repair to my suite first - indeed, had they apprised me of the fact that an auction was in the offing - I might have secured the funds for you beforehand. As it stands… Hmm?"

For Ecstasy was shaking her head. "You don't understand, Gaspar. This is merely the preliminary round. If the bidding doesn't go high enough - and it hasn't - I shall simply have to offer the Phoenix to others. France once owned it, and there's also the city of Florence. And of course there are plenty of other nations in Europe that might show an interest in obtaining such a treasure. Bosnia itself might well enter the competition to win it back. Not to mention private collectors such as yourself."

At Artie's side, _Herr _Koch muttered a Teutonic oath. But as Artie turned a glance his way, only to note that the German's face was as sullen as ever, another voice lifted in remonstrance, saying, "But, but no! You can't!"

…

Here was the place. Jim cracked open the door and was rewarded with a sudden increase in volume just in time to hear a certain little man crying out, "But, but no! You can't!"

Jim made a swift inspection of as much of the room as he could see. There were four toughs near him, each of them paying rapt attention to the goings on deeper in the room, beyond the stacks of boxes they were facing. Jim entered quietly and slipped up on the closest man. A quick chop to the side of that man's neck and he was out. Jim caught him as he fell, then silently lowered him to the floor. One down - well, three counting the drivers outside. Keeping to the shadows, Jim moved on toward the next man.

…

Heads swiveled toward the source of the plaintive outcry. "I can't?" Ecstasy responded softly. "Do explain to me why not, Mr Memphis."

The little man was on his feet, his eyes and mouth perfect circles, his face contorted as if in pain. "You… You just _can't_, that's all," he whimpered. His fingers were twitching, and a single tear went sliding down his cheek.

Ecstasy tipped her head, watching the little man, noting how he was staring steadfastly at the wooden case on the corner of the table. She then called out, "Rayburn!"

One of the bruisers, the one who had carried in the case, snapped to attention. "Yes'm?"

"Where did you get this case?"

The bruiser nodded at Memphis. "Snivels there had it when we picked him up."

Miss La Joie leaned forward and laid a hand on the case. "And this is what the Phoenix made the ocean crossing in?"

No one answered. The countess had gone back to not speaking to anyone, and Memphis was too miserable. As for Artie and the professor, neither man wanted to have to account for how he knew that was the Phoenix' case.

Ecstasy frowned and inspected the case more closely. "Oh, it can't possibly…" she murmured to herself, then said, "Where are the keys?"

…

Two men from the room were down now. And now three.

…

Again the professor and Artie declined to answer, as did Memphis. But after a few moments' silence a voice rang out, "Oh, _he _has a duplicate pair of keys, the little wretch. I've known about his extra keys since he had the case made back in Bosnia!"

Heads swiveled again, this time toward the countess, who with her chin held high was glaring down her nose at Memphis. "I knew you would not rest until you had the Phoenix in your grasp. I have been watching carefully, making sure you never had the opportunity to make off with it. This despite all your many reassurances that you would help _me _to acquire it, that you would make sure that in the end, _I _had the Phoenix. Hmph!"

"But, but, Zorana, I assure you, I meant every word I said! I have no designs on the Phoenix."

"Ha!" And now she turned her back on Memphis.

"Come here, Mr Memphis," said Ecstasy La Joie.

"Hmm? What?" The little man shied back from her, his eyes wide.

"Oh, I won't hurt you - that is, unless you force me to," she said. "Come here to the table. I want you to open the case."

"I…" He balked for a second, just a second. And then the shining gleam of an idea flitted across his face. "Yes, yes, of course. Right away!" He scuttled forward, dug in his pocket for the keys, then used them to unlock the case.

…

And now all the minions from closest to the door had been picked off one by one. Jim took up the spot the last of those men had been standing in and swiftly popped his head up and down again, taking a glance at the main portion of the room. There was Artie, furthest from Jim and closest to the door, with _Herr _Koch sitting at his side. Next was an empty chair, then came the haughty figure of Countess Zorana followed by Professor Montague. Across from them at the table stood little Mr Memphis and at the opposite side of the table from him sat the ever-lovely Ecstasy La Joie.

Five big men stood just beyond that closely grouped circle, and at least another seven or eight minions were scattered among the boxes and barrels over here near Jim. Reasonable odds, he thought as he kept his eyes and ears peeled for some opening of which he could take advantage.

…

Artie caught a fleeting glimpse of a familiar face over behind some boxes just as the locks on the case clicked open. A moment later everyone but Artie and the professor - and, Artie presumed, Jim - was craning forward to catch a glimpse as the lid fell back exposing the little mound under the square of purple cloth. Ecstasy reached out; Memphis took up the linen gloves and handed them to her. She slipped them on, then whipped the purple cloth aside.

A collective sigh met the sight of the golden orb studded with rubies. Ecstasy lifted it from the cushion and held it in her hands, frowning prettily at it. Then she rose and carried it over to Prof Montague, demanding of him, "What is this?"

"That?" he said, coming hastily to his feet. "Ah, that's the Florentine Phoenix, of course." He peered owlishly at her, blinking rapidly. "What else would it be?"

"That's what I'd like you to tell me, Professor. I could have sworn the Phoenix would be in your valise. In fact, I really should have searched it already. I…"

"Ah…" Mr Kutman interjected loudly, drawing everyone's attention away from the professor. "It's no good, you know. They aren't there anymore."

Heads swiveled again, first to look at Kutman, then to follow his gaze toward the table where poor Memphis was falling to pieces. The cushion and false bottom of the case were lying to one side on the table top as the little man rummaged with increasing panic through the hidden and now empty compartment. "What… what… where…?" He looked up now, his eyes blazing as he snarled, "You! You, you _took _them! You knew about them and you…!"

Memphis launched himself toward Kutman, hissing and spitting, delirious with fury, his hands straining toward the big man's throat. Artie jumped from his chair and grabbed it to use as a weapon to fend off the little madman's attack, while up among the boxes Jim West tensed, ready to come to his partner's aid.

Suddenly Koch stepped between Kutman and the onrushing Memphis. With a single swipe the bodyguard backhanded the much smaller man, sending him spinning away.

The countess shrieked and sprang to her feet. The professor jumped to one side and Miss La Joie to the other, both of them getting out of the way just in time before Memphis flew between them to land in a heap on the carpet.

For a moment there was silence, broken at length by Memphis as he groaned and sat up. He touched his face gingerly, then stared in horror at his hand, at the deep red stain on his hand. "My, my nose," he snuffled. He snatched out his handkerchief to staunch the crimson flow, glanced over at Kutman and the glowering Koch, and wisely scuttled away from them as far as he could go.

Ecstasy sighed and stared down at the pool of blood where Memphis had lain. "Well, it seems my carpet didn't get spared after all," she murmured. Then she strode over to Kutman, tipping her chin up to look him in the eye. "What was that about?"

Artie cocked an eyebrow. "Our dear Mr Memphis just learned that smuggling doesn't pay."

"Smuggling!" exclaimed Zorana. "What do you mean, smuggling?"

"It seems little Bartholomew had in mind to use the well-known visit of the Phoenix as a means to slip his own art treasure past us all. No wonder he was eager to help _you _gain the bird, dear Countess, since his own little mice were hitching a ride in its case. Until I liberated them, that is."

From the floor, a voice wheezed out, "Thief!"

Kutman laughed heartily. "And you are not? Truly, in a gathering such as this, one might as well cry out 'Human!' as 'Thief!' That is, with apologies to the elderly gentleman over there." He bowed toward Montague, who knit his formidable eyebrows at him in return. "But to return to the point, Ecstasy my dear," Artie's aim being to keep her distracted from the valise, "let me assure you that whatever price you name for that exquisite treasure in your hands, I will pay it. Gladly."

She shot him a piercing look. "You will? Even if the price is, say…" She dimpled at him. "…one million dollars?"

"One…" exclaimed the countess, her face blanching. "One mill…" She drew out a silk handkerchief and dabbed at her face.

Artie met Ecstasy's gaze steadily, trying to discern her expectations of him: should he agree or should he haggle? "You realize, my dear," he temporized, strolling over to the table, "that such a sum is not one I can instantly produce. What bank, even here in San Francisco, would have an amount like that ready on hand?" He replaced the false bottom inside the case. "I could conceivably raise, say, thirty thousand quickly, with another fifty thousand at the end of a month. But a million?" He shook his head, tut-tutting as he settled the cushion into its proper place. "By the time I could finish paying off such a debt, my dear, you would have grown weary of waiting for it and, I think, perhaps even grown a bit too old to enjoy it properly." Using the purple cloth, he relieved her of the Phoenix she'd been carrying and nestled it gently into its hollow in the cushion alongside its key. He closed the lid, locked it shut, slipped his hand into his pocket for a moment, then took her hand and laid the two keys for the case into her palm, gently folding her fingers over them. "Eighty thousand, my dear. Final offer."

She smiled at him. "You wily old darling! Eight hundred thousand."

Good, she was haggling. Anything to keep her attention away from the professor's valise - and for that matter, from Artie's own pocket. "One hundred thousand, though it may beggar me to the end of my days."

"You, beggared, Gaspar? I cannot imagine such a possibility."

"Especially when you have my mice!" groused a voice from the floor.

"What mice?" exclaimed Countess Zorana, clearly drawing nigh to the last frayed end of her patience.

"The mice that are now residing in Col Richmond's safe," came a new voice. Once more heads swiveled. There he stood, the man in powder-blue, having appeared just then as if from nowhere.

And chaos attended his arrival.

"You!" That exclamation came from Ecstasy La Joie. "Well, it certainly took you long enough to show your face, my dear Mr West. Get him, all of you!"

The minions closest to Jim were already on the move. The first one to arrive swung at him with a club. Jim snatched up a wooden crate and used it to block the blow, then threw the crate at the minion, knocked him down.

By this time the bruisers and toughs were heading toward Jim, while Countess Zorana was bustling the opposite way, hurrying for the door through which she'd been escorted into this mess. She'd almost reached it too before a hand closed on her arm and a voice said, "Oh no no, not so fast, dear lady!"

Zorana whirled and tried to pull her wrist out of Prof Montague's grasp but to no avail. As she wrenched her arm this way and that, the scientist produced a pair of manacles and managed to cuff one of her wrists. Getting the other cuff on her, however… that wasn't so easy.

As for Artie, as soon as he heard his partner's voice, the phony Kutman had gone for the valise. He dug out the jug, removed its bottom, shook out the well-wrapped bundle from within, then jammed it into another pocket of his fat suit. He next extracted the key from its hiding place, slipping that into his pocket as well. He was just burying the jug, its bottom now back in place, under the journals and clothing in the valise again when he became aware that someone else was also charging for the table.

It was Koch. His eyes met Artie's for a split-second, then Koch seized his own carpetbag. From its roomy interior he produced, of all things, a small sword encased in a black sheath. Artie gaped for a second before exclaiming, "How did you fit that in there?"

Koch ignored him and snatched the sheath off the blade. Eyes glittering, he bowed to _Herr _Kutman, then ran to the battle that was shaping up all around James West.

A _Trauerdegen! _That's what Koch had had hidden in his carpetbag, a mourning dagger! Wishing that he'd thought to blurt out his question in German, Artie hurried to the fray himself to help Jim fight off the crowd of bad guys - and apparently _Herr _Koch as well.


	16. Act Four, Part Three

**Act Four, Part Three**

The sight of Koch running toward him with a sword in hand was not something Jim was particularly thrilled to see. Artie was only a couple of yards behind the German, hollering out, _"Nein!"_ and_ "Halt!" _and other such things, along with the plea of _"Bitte!"_

Koch was plainly ignoring the spurious _Herr _Kutman, for he just kept coming. Jim at the moment had a more immediate concern, since two of the minions with knives were converging on him as well. Realizing he might be able to kill not just two birds but three with a single stone, Jim grabbed both minions, clonked their heads together, then spun the pair around and shoved them toward _Herr _Koch.

Koch's grin was magnificent; curious that the man always looked taller and happier when he had a sword in hand. With a tidy flickering of his wrist, he disarmed both knifemen, sending their puny blades scattering into parts unknown, then gave one a thump on the head with the hilt of his sword. Koch made a polite "after you" gesture to Jim regarding the other man and Jim, his eyebrows rising, obligingly knocked the second man out cold with an uppercut.

With a cordial bow of his head and a click of his heels, Koch said, _"Guten Tag, Herr _West_. __Möchten Sie, dass ich Ihnen helfe?" _

"He's offering to help you, Jim!" Artie called as he hurried to Jim's side.

Jim eyed Koch for a second, taking the measure of the man, then nodded. And to Artie he said, "The professor might need a hand there."

"Right, Jim." Artie clapped his partner on the shoulder, gave Koch a sharp look - the man had better not turn out to be a backstabber! - and hurried back to the carpeted area.

But not to the professor's aid, not yet. A glance at the table showed Artie that something was missing: the wooden case. A second glance pinpointed that the one man most interested in that case was no longer in view. Artie looked around hurriedly.

There! Memphis had wedged himself and the case into the space between two stacks of barrels. "All right, come out of there!" Artie ordered.

"No! Never!" Memphis bleated defiantly. He scooted himself backwards, evading Artie's attempts to grab him and haul him out into the open again. "You won't take me alive!"

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic!" Artie returned. He planted his fists on his hips and glared down at the skulking Memphis. With a shake of his head, Artie turned and walked away.

Five steps later he whirled back and tossed a small glass orb into the space where Memphis was hiding. The bauble shattered, sending a cloud of saffron fumes right into the little man's face. Coughing, choking, Memphis tried to leap to his feet and run.

But it was too late for that. He keeled over, knocking down both stacks he'd been crouched behind.

Artie wafted the smoke away, then checked the man's pulse and nodded. "Taken alive, yes. Taken _awake_, no. You'll keep for now I think." He picked up the case and carried it back to the table.

Jim and Koch had been holding their own against the remaining minions and steadily reducing their ranks. The ones armed with sticks and knives had fallen by the wayside first, and now there remained only those with guns. Jim was behind a crate, firing and ducking as the minions fired at him. Where Koch had gotten off to, Jim wasn't entirely sure.

_Ah! _One of the bullets grazed Jim's upper arm. He clapped his left hand over the wound - a slight one, he assessed - and took aim on the minion.

Missed. The minion grinned and leveled his revolver at Jim. There was a…

No, not a gunshot but a _thwock._ The minion yelped and dropped his gun. Surprisingly there was a knife sticking out of his arm.

Koch now appeared from beyond some boxes, sword in one hand, two more knives in the other. Politely he offered one of the knives to Jim.

Jim shook his head and continued firing at the greatly dwindled group of minions. Strange character, that Koch. He had thrown the knife to wound, not kill. Even with his sword he had been careful to deliberately cause only a minimum of harm to the minions, just enough to incapacitate.

Another minion went down, this one with a knife in his leg. One of the final two snatched up his fallen comrade's gun and went on firing.

Artie was just setting down the case when a shapely figure emerged from beneath the table. "I don't know what to make of you, Gaspar," said Miss Ecstasy La Joie. "You seem to have decided to switch over to the side of the angels." She smiled, and suddenly there was a gun in her hand. "I'll take the Phoenix now."

Artie held up the case. "Oh, you mean this?" He sighed. "And I had a glass-topped display table just waiting for it!"

She fixed him with a frosty look and one at a time dropped the matching keys for the wooden case onto the table. "Don't try to trick me, my dear Gaspar. We both know the Phoenix that's in _that _case is a clever fake. It's the one in _here_," and she seized the valise, "that I want."

"What? No!" cried Artie, keeping up the ruse.

"Now, Gaspar," she said sweetly, drawing back the hammer of her gun, "please don't make me shoot you."

"I… I…" He fell silent, then raised his hands and backed off. "All right, my dear, you win."

"Of course I do." Still keeping the gun on him, she stepped away, taking the valise with her. "I'll be in touch, Gaspar, to let you know when the next round of bidding takes place." She headed for the door, then paused. "That is, if I decide to include you in it."

She walked toward the door, ignoring the professor and the countess who were still struggling together, she with one cuff on her wrist, he trying to catch her other wrist to cuff it as well. Without breaking her stride, Ecstasy fired a single bullet through the door lock, shattering it, and walked on out and away, never once looking back.

Another gunshot rang out, and the final minion slumped to the floor, holding his bleeding wrist. Jim rushed for the door as Koch instead strolled toward the table.

As Jim was pointing out, "There are carriages out back," Koch was leisurely wiping the blade of his sword clean.

And as Montague added, "Yes, and she knows how to drive them," Koch sheathed his sword and somehow managed to store it once more within the carpetbag. Leaving the bag on the table, he then wandered toward the group by the door, noting how, with the disappearance of Ecstasy La Joie, all the fight had departed from the countess and she was finally fully handcuffed.

"Well," Artie was saying, "the carriages don't matter. Whenever our Miss La Joie stops long enough to have a look inside the valise, she'll find the little surprise I put in there when I took the real Phoenix out. She won't get very far."

There was a deep-throated chuckle as a voice West and Gordon had come to know quite well by now spoke up. "Very good, _Herr _Gordon! Or to put it another way, _sehr gut, Herr _**Kutman**."

The voice was familiar, but the fact that it had just spoken in English was not. Jim, Artie, and the professor as well all turned to see Koch standing straight and tall, his posture not the least bit hunched, his expression not by any means sullen, and his cheeks no longer hidden beneath the heavy red beard. With an amused twinkle in his eye, Koch stroked the goatee that remained, then held out his hand, the other firmly ensconced in his coat pocket. The rigid outline protruding through the cloth of his pocket showed plainly that the hand was holding a weapon upon them.

"And now, _meine Herren_," he said as pleasantly as if asking them for the time of day, "you will hand over to me the Phoenix." Cutting his eyes toward Artie, Koch cocked an eyebrow and added, "_Bitte_."


	17. Act Four, Part Four

**Act Four, Part Four**

Professor Montague gaped. "I thought he didn't speak English!"

"But of course!" Koch replied. "You were all to think that, _Herr _Professor. When no one expects the foreigner to understand, no one bothers to guard his words before the foreigner."

"So you were after the Phoenix as well," said Jim flatly.

"For yourself?" asked Artie.

Koch smiled. "_Ach, nein! _For my employer."

"Employer," Jim repeated. "But not, I take it, Gaspar Kutman."

"_Nein, Herr _West. _Herr _Kutman hired me to be his, shall we say, muscle. He never dreamed I had so arranged events as to ensure I would come into his employ. I needed him, you see, to give myself standing, a reason to be in the game, as you Americans might put it." His face sober, he added, "But then the man fell ill, almost tossing me out of the game." He glanced at Artie.

"Ah!" said the fake Kutman. "But then there I was pretending to be Kutman, a pretense that offered you an entrance right back in, hmm? The sparrow in the hand that was worth the dove on the roof?"

"Precisely, _Herr _Gordon. I knew once I looked into your eye that you were neither Kutman nor sick - nor even unconscious, I think?" Once Artie shrugged modestly, Koch went on with, "And being back in the game, I needed only to ensure that I would be the last one standing - as we now see. This I assured by allying myself with you against the others."

"A temporary alliance, I'm sure," put in Jim.

Koch smiled. "Indeed. And now that your usefulness to me has passed, I will take the Phoenix and be gone."

"To take it to your real employer."

"_Jawohl, Herr_ West. Not Kutman, but the one to whom my true fealty lies."

"And to whom might that be?" asked Artie.

With a slight bow and a click of his heels, Koch replied, "Allow me to introduce myself: _Oberst _- or as you would say it, Colonel - Richard Horst, representative of the rightful heir to the Phoenix."

"Rightful?"

"_Ach, ja! _The heir of the original owner, the one who commissioned its creation. Who, _meine Herren_, has a better right to own the Phoenix?"

Jim shot a glance at Artie; if anyone would know off the top of his head who the current rightful heir of the Margrave of Brandenburg from the late fifteenth century would be, certainly Artie would know.

And clearly he did, for Artie's eyebrows rose and his jaw dropped. "Oh, you're kidding me! The top man himself? The _Deutscher Kai_…"

"Ah-ah-ah!" Koch - that is, Horst - shook a finger at him. "My employer prefers his name and title not be brought into this."

Montague's eyebrows knitted. "Of whom are we speaking?" he murmured to Jim, who only shook his head in reply, for Artie was talking again.

"If your employer wants the Phoenix back so badly, an heirloom treasure of his forebears four centuries ago, why doesn't he simply negotiate with Bosnia for its return, as one head of a sovereign state to another?"

"He has attempted such, _Herr _Gordon," Horst snapped. "His indisputable claims were rejected out of hand in the diplomatic equivalent of 'Finders keepers.' Accordingly I have been dispatched to attend personally to the matter of the Phoenix's return to its homeland."

"Ah. Leaving Bosnia to be the 'Losers weepers,' eh?"

"Precisely. And now once more I request of you, _meine Herren_," and Horst held out his hand again, "give me the bird."

Artie snorted. "Don't tempt me!" And as Horst turned upon him an exceedingly puzzled look, Artie's partner spoke up and said simply, "No."

Horst gazed at him coldly and made a threatening motion with the hand in his pocket.

"No," Jim repeated. "Col Horst, you are getting the same answer that we gave Kutman two days ago. The Phoenix isn't ours to give to anyone, no matter how good his claim on it may be."

"Yes, you'll just have to fall back on the proper diplomatic channels," said Artie.

Horst scowled darkly. "Proper dip…! I _am _the proper diplomatic channel henceforth!" He pulled out an envelope and handed it to Artie. "My credentials. As you can see, I have full diplomatic standing." He waited for Artie to read through the paper.

"Well, he's right, Jim. Full diplomatic standing." Artie handed back the paper.

"Including diplomatic immunity, of course," said Jim.

"_Jawohl._ I am at my own discretion to obtain the Phoenix by any means necessary._ Mein Kai_… that is, my employer _will _have that which is rightfully his, and Bosnia may content herself with your clever substitute. And as my employer will rejoice in his treasure in great secrecy, no one need ever know an exchange was made."

"Ah. Well," said Artie. He rubbed at the back of his neck and glanced at Jim. "When you say, Col Horst, that no one need ever know about the exchange, ah…"

"Exactly," said Jim. "_We _will know. And we'll have no part of it. You don't get the Phoenix."

Horst sighed heavily. "Then you leave me no choice." In one fluid motion he brought from his pocket a small gun, pointed it at the countess, and pulled the trigger.

The woman yelped and sank to the floor.

Jim's own gun was in his hand in an instant, even as Artie hurried over to check Zorana. It didn't take long. He stood up again almost immediately with a small dart in his hand. "Tranquilizer, I take it," Artie growled as he held it up. "At least, it had better be."

"_Jawohl_. I would do no harm to a woman, particularly one who is handcuffed. But as you can see, I am determined to have the Phoenix. You will not stop me." He met Jim West's gaze steadily, the tranquilizer gun equally steady in his hand.

"So if we don't give you the Phoenix, you'll tranquilize us and take it."

"_Jawohl, Herr _West."

"I could shoot you."

"A man who is not offering deadly force against you? I think you will not do that," said Horst.

West put up his gun. "Then I could beat you to a pulp," he offered.

"You could. But that also I think you will not do. You are too much of a - how do you say it? - a good sport." Horst's lips twitched into a slight smile. "And do remember, _meine Herren_," he added, "that my employer has the one true claim upon the Phoenix, a claim dating back centuries to the only man to have owned it without having obtained that treasure by means of theft."

West drew a long breath, then let it all out at once. "Artie?"

"Yeah, Jim?"

Again West drew a long breath, then nodded at Horst. "Give it to him."

Artie's eyebrows arched. "But…!" At a further look from Jim, though, Artie subsided. With a roll of his eyes to show what he thought of this, he reached into his pocket and…

"Ah-ah-ah, _Herr _Gordon! Not that one. I want the _other _Phoenix, the one you took from your associate's valise."

"But this one _is _the real… All right, fine. Here!" Artie reached into his other pocket and produced a gleaming ruby-stubbed orb which he quickly cupped in both hands. "Let me get the key also," he added and withdrew one hand again to fish in his pocket. "There! Now you have both."

"Put them in the carpetbag," Horst ordered, leading Gordon to the table. "You will find inside it a padded pouch. Put the Phoenix inside the pouch." Horst removed his _Trauerdegen _from the carpetbag, then held the luggage out to _Herr _Gordon.

With one last pleading look toward Jim, Artie did as he was told.

Satisfied, Horst returned the short sword to the depths of the carpetbag, then strapped the bag closed. With a nod and a click of his heels, he said, "It has been a pleasure doing business with you, _meine Herren. Guten Tag_." And off he went.

The three men stood there in silence for a long moment. Then Artie went out the door and checked. "All right. He's away."

"Good," said Jim.

Artie grinned and gave his partner a nudge on the shoulder. "Pretty good job there, James my boy. For a second there you even had me convinced."

Montague gawked at them. "Wait - you were acting?"

Jim shrugged. "I needed to get us out of the impasse one way or another, and as Horst pointed out, I couldn't just shoot him. And after all, the point of making that fake Phoenix was to be able to let someone steal it, right? I just had to trust Artie to make sure the bird he gave Horst was the fake. It, ah, was, wasn't it?"

"Well, of course! It was in my right pocket. 'R for right; R for real,' " said Artie confidently. "Um."

"Um?"

"Unless, ah, it was 'four letters for left, four letters for real'…"

"Artie, you didn't mix them up, did you?"

"Well, I, uh…" Artie patted at his pockets with an increasingly worried look on his face, then abruptly broke out in a huge grin and pointed at Jim. "Gotcha!"

Prof Montague looked back and forth between the two of them and grimaced. "Oh dear dear dear. Please, just to, ah, humor me, do wind up the only Phoenix we have remaining so I can see which one it is."

Artie obliged, producing both the Phoenix and the key as if out of thin air.

"You keep doing that!" Montague exclaimed. "You palmed the Phoenix when we were with Col Richmond, and now you've done it again here, what, three times? How can you do such a thing?"

Artie grinned as he used the key to wind up the machinery. "It's all in the wrist," he said proudly. "By the way," he added as he set down the Phoenix and the gears began to click, "you do realize who Col Horst was, don't you, James?"

Jim shot him a look. "I take it neither Horst nor Koch?"

"Mm-hmm. Now, I didn't catch on myself until just now, but it seems the name 'Horst' means 'aerie.' "

Jim nodded. "An eagle's nest. And?"

"And Merle - which never did strike me as being a particularly German name - means 'blackbird.' "

Jim's lips set into a straight line. "Eagle's nest and blackbird," he repeated.

"Yep. Not to mention the fact that a phoenix was involved - _and _the proverb about a sparrow and a dove."

Montague looked up from watching the mechanical treasure, a frown knitting his eyebrows. "And all these bird references mean something to you?"

Jim nodded. "They certainly do. Have you ever heard of _Herr _Vogel, Professor?"

"Vaguely, vaguely. The, ah, Rumormeister, I believe he's called? Some sort of master spy?"

Now Artie nodded. "Exactly. This has been Jim's and my second run-in with the fellow, and both times we didn't recognize him as _Herr _Vogel - or Mr Bird - until _after _he'd left." Artie scowled.

"Don't worry about it, Artie. We'll catch him some day." Jim watched as the Florentine Phoenix finished its cycle and the sound of the gears ceased. "Besides, we know for sure which Phoenix he has now. Once his employer sees what Vogel has brought him, he may well be out of a job - at the least."

Artie snickered. "Oh, you've got a good point there, Jim!" And as he wrapped up the Phoenix and stored it into its wooden case once again, he added, "Now, wouldn't you like to be a fly on the wall when Vogel takes out the key and winds up his Phoenix?"

**End of Act Four**

* * *

_Note: Herr Vogel first appeared in TNOT Unexpected Visit._


	18. Tag

**Tag**

A tall figure dressed in an overcoat and slouch hat, carrying a large carpetbag in his hand, walked into the consulate and stepped up to the receptionist's desk where he asked to see the consul. _"Und mach schnell," _he added.

The receptionist jumped to his feet. _"Jawohl, Herr Vogel!" _he cried and hurried deeper into the building.

Shortly Vogel was ushered into the main office of the consul. _"Guten Tag, Vogel," _he greeted jovially as Vogel saluted him with a nod of the head and click of the heels. _"Und der Phönix?" _he added hopefully.

Both men continuing their conversation in their native German, Vogel placed the carpetbag on the desk and said, "It is right in here."

"Ah, but His Majesty will be so pleased!" the consul exulted. "May I… may I see it?"

"Naturally." Vogel produced a handkerchief and held it ready to handle the beautiful treasure. Gently he shook the orb from its padded pouch and set it on the desk. Pulling out the ornate golden key as well, he fitted it into the slot on the bottom and wound the Phoenix up. He then set it down and stepped back.

A light sound of gears turning, almost musical in its delicacy, met their ears. For a long moment nothing happened, then abruptly the orb cracked open, its golden shell splitting six ways into scallop-edged segments like the petals of a flower, each one slowly falling outwards to expose an elegant little bird within, its body greenish-white and inlaid with amethysts.

As they watched and the unseen gears continued to mesh softly, a ring of tongues of flame sprang up all around the bird, little rippled blades of red gold, looking like so many tiny flaming swords surrounding the bird. The flames grew taller and taller, becoming broader at their bases, curving up and over the bird until at last the flames joined up together into a solid shell again that hid the bird completely from view.

They waited. The six petals of the outer orb were still splayed out on the desk. The cycle did not seem to be complete, and yet the men became aware that the clicking sound had ceased. "Is that it?" the consul ventured.

Vogel frowned. "That does not seem right. It should finish as it began, closed. And yet the gears are no longer…" He reached out to prod the inner shell with a finger.

Abruptly, as the sound of gears cranking began again, the six slivers of the outer orb flew up and snapped themselves shut.

_Herr _Vogel snatched his hand away, giving vent to a Teutonic oath. "Someone could lose a finger that way!" he exclaimed as he tightly wrapped up his index finger in the handkerchief he had used only minutes earlier to handle the Phoenix.

The gears were still clicking, and curiously, now music began to play. The consul frowned. "I do not recall any mention in the official descriptions of the Phoenix that it would act as a music box."

"Nor do I," said Vogel. He leaned closer, being very careful to keep his hands - and, indeed, his face - well out of reach of the golden orb. The music though. It was familiar. He had heard it somewhere before. What was it…?

And then the orb cracked open again. The backmost petal split away from the rest in order to emit a tiny flag with sapphire blue in the top corner and horizontal stripes of ruby-red alternating with pearly-white making up the rest of it. The little flag waved back and forth merrily in time with the music.

The consul and _Herr _Vogel's eyes met over the top of the musical bauble as it continued to fill the air around them with:

_O Columbia! the gem of the ocean,  
The home of the brave and the free,  
The shrine of each patriot's devotion,  
A world offers homage to thee…_

And _Herr _Vogel gnashed his teeth as he vigorously cursed the names of James West and Artemus Gordon.

…

"Well, gentlemen," said Col Richmond as he settled into his chair in his office and indicated some paperwork on the desk top, "I'm pleased to see your final report on your adventure here with the Florentine Phoenix before you head off tomorrow morning to deliver the little item to the Smithsonian. I rather imagine neither one of you will be sad to see the last of that golden bird, hmm?"

"No sir," said Artemus heartily, answering for himself and Jim.

Richmond took up the report and scanned it. "Now you say you found no trace of Miss La Joie?"

"No, Colonel," said Jim. "Only the professor's valise."

"Right," Artie added. "The knock-out bomb I had secreted inside the valise had in fact gone off, but somehow she managed to get away unscathed."

Richmond shook his head. "Pity. Pity about _Herr _Vogel and his diplomatic immunity too. However," and he turned to some other paperwork on his desk. "I've no doubt you'll be interested in these telegrams." He took up the first and passed it to Artie, the second to Jim, and kept the third for himself.

"Ah!" said Artie, looking over his. "It seems that the government of Bosnia is looking forward eagerly to the return of Countess Zorana to face trial for her part in the plot to steal the Phoenix."

"And London requests Gaspar Kutman be sent there as soon as the doctor clears him to travel. They have a few outstanding warrants against him. I suppose the State Department has no objections, Colonel?"

"None whatsoever, Jim."

"And the final telegram, Colonel? I suppose it's regarding our friend Mr Memphis?"

"Correct, Artemus. In his case, it's the government of Egypt requesting he be returned there to face charges in regards to… Oh, good evening, Professor Montague… in regards to his smuggling of those five ancient golden mice. They want… Ah, is something wrong, Professor?"

For Montague had suddenly turned crimson and was rubbing at the back of his neck. "Ah, well… yes, Colonel, there is something… well, not exactly _wrong_. I've been studying the mice a bit more now that I have them in a proper lab, you see. I hadn't the equipment to do a complete analysis when they first came into my hands, you understand, and… well…"

Every eye was on the professor. Then Jim and Artie turned a glance at each other. "What you're saying then, Professor," Jim stated flatly, "is that the mice are fake."

"Ah, well… yes. Yes, on further scrutiny, I would estimate that those particular mice were fabricated not more than fifty years ago. So, yes, they are fraudulent."

Artie snickered and shook his head, his eyes dancing. "Oh no! Poor old Memphis, after all he's been through for all those years, and it turns out his antiquities are phony!"

"Makes you almost feel sorry for him," Richmond commented.

"Almost," Jim echoed. "But considering that he tried to attack Artie over those mice…" and he shook his head firmly.

"Well, what's to be done then?" asked Montague. "As the mice are spurious, what of Memphis?"

"He was still deep in the plan to steal the Phoenix," said Jim.

"And he's still a smuggler, albeit a pretty bad one," added Artie, still chuckling.

"Oh, it's very simple, gentlemen," said the Colonel in a voice that announced he'd made up his mind. "As per this telegram and the wishes of both the Egyptian government and our own, we shall send Mr Memphis and his little darlings on the next ship back to Egypt…" He paused and glanced up at them all, "and from there we just let the Egyptians sort it all out for themselves."

"Sounds good to me," said Jim.

"Hear, hear!" added Artie. "I'll drink to that." And he turned to the colonel's liquor cabinet to pour them all a little brandy.

"A toast!" he said as he handed round the glasses. "To the end of another successful case."

They clinked glasses all around, and just as they were about to indulge themselves in the brandy, Jim added, "And to a safe and uneventful trip with the little bird to the Smithsonian. Because who knows how many other thieves and brigands are awaiting us all along the way to Washington?"

Artie groaned as that fresh set of worries assaulted his brain. "Oh no. No no no no no. Oh, Jim, you had to bring that up! You just _had _to!"

"Mm-hmm!" said Jim with a roguish grin, and then he sampled his brandy.

**FIN**

* * *

_In my little homage to Dashiell Hammett:_

**Jim **_had the role of Sam Spade,  
_**Artie **_was Miles Archer (but incapacitated, not killed - ok, and not really incapacitated either),  
Both _**Countess Zorana AND Ecstasy La Joie **_portrayed Brigid O'Shaunessy,  
_**Bartholomew Memphis **_was Joel Cairo, as a couple of people nearly called him,  
_**Gaspar Kutman **_was spoonered from Kasper Gutman,  
_**Merle Koch aka Col Richard Horst aka ****Herr ****Vogel **_was the sullen Wilmer Cook, and  
_**The Florentine Phoenix **_was the Maltese Falcon._


End file.
